


Vanishing Act

by nockout



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Auror Training, Aurors, Canon Backstory, Canon Compliant, Charlie means, Coming of Age, Death Eaters, Detective Noir, Dragons, Epic, Found Family, Gen, Kind of important for this story oh well, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Murder Mystery, Not Romance, Prequel, Sexual Content, Suspense, Thriller, Worldbuilding, a few badass magical abilities that are not canon, also I can't spell appariation for shit apparently there's no third a, and occassional, and probably too many punk rock and 80s references, focused primarily on the magical world beyond Hogwarts, shelter in place made me do it, this will eventually weave into the events of the HP series, with extensive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:34:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 143
Words: 232,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22355734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nockout/pseuds/nockout
Summary: Charlie Weasley's classmate Aaron disappeared in 1991; vanishing while the magical world was locked in turmoil.  Aaron is presumed dead - or worse - until 1994, when he arrives at The Burrow through a blood-soaked tear in space, pulling Frank and Alice Longbottom with him.  His sudden return - and a violent series of terrorist attacks that have the signatures of the Death Eaters and Aaron all over them - has gotten Alastor Moody's attention, and he has some questions for his former protégé.But what happened to Aaron isn't straightforward.Ten years earlier, during what should have been an era of peace after the war, a controversial act threatens muggle-born autonomy; someone is killing muggle-borns and leaving them strung up like marionettes across the UK; and the depleted Aurors are out of options.  The class of 1984 (a dragon-obsessed redhead, a hand magic prodigy, a jokester metamorphmagus, and a kid who can't even use magic) soon find themselves involved in a series of interconnected events that lead to Aaron's disappearance, and the Second Wizarding War.
Relationships: Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody & Nymphadora Tonks, Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody & Original Character(s), Charlie Weasley & Original Character(s), Original Character(s) & Original Character(s)
Comments: 726
Kudos: 134





	1. What's Future is Prologue

**July 1994**

The Burrow sat in a dark clearing with a single light emanating from the kitchen window. Charlie Weasley leaned over the sink, rolled up his sleeve, and unwrapped the bandage covering his arm. Blood stuck to the gauze and leaked from his blistered flesh. He winced and picked at the layers of peeling skin. The injured - and agitated - Romanian Longhorn he'd kept locked in a stable for five days had gotten him good that morning, but the antibiotic potion he had taken was working. He was healing and there were no signs of infection.

_Then why do I feel sick?_

It was the house. He shouldn't have come back to The Burrow, and he should have gotten rid of the box he'd left in the corner of his old bedroom, or told one of the twins to move it someplace where he wouldn't have to look at it. Charlie still wasn't ready to face the contents; letters, photographs, battered cassette tapes, and a stack of worn muggle paperbacks that had never belonged to him. The writing on the lid was blunt and devoid of emotion - _Personal Effects, Stone, Aaron_. Charlie had looked inside once. He'd tried to read one of the letters - pulled from an organized stack secured with twine - until he saw unsteady thirteen year old handwriting. He'd dropped the worn parchment, ran outside, and dry heaved by the lake until his body stopped shaking.

Charlie walked away from the sink and reached into the high cabinet where Molly kept her potions.

He'd heard that time was supposed to help. It hadn't.

_You said you'd be right back, you bloody arsehole._

He moved the vials and jars around until he found the Star Grass Salve; unscrewed the lid, stuck his fingers inside, and rubbed the balm into his burn.

_CRRRACCCCKKKKKK_

The air in front of the sink ripped apart. Blood sprayed over the cabinets, counter tops, and floor.

Three figures collapsed on the tile, covered in blood. A woman. A man. And -

"AARON?!"

It _was_ Aaron.

The woman shoved herself away from the carnage - away from Aaron - screaming at him. She collided hard with the cabinets behind her and clawed at her face, leaving streaks of red across her forehead and mouth. Long, tangled hair obscured her features.

The man had a vise grip on Aaron's arm; his untrimmed nails had broken the skin. Blood spatter covered his face, neck, and chest.

Aaron choked. Blood ran from the corners of his mouth. Charlie got on the floor and reached for him.

_Where is all of it coming from?!_

He helped Aaron roll onto his stomach and got his answer. Aaron's right arm, most of his shoulder - and what looked like portions of his rib cage - were gone; a mangled distortion of flesh, fragmented and protruding bones, and blood was all that remained.

Aaron struggled and clutched the floor, trying to pull air into his throat. His right lung was torn open, filling with blood, and collapsing.

Charlie pulled the confused - and almost catatonic - man off Aaron's arm and shoved his hands into Aaron's body, trying to apply pressure. It was useless. There was nothing left to hold together.

The rest of the kitchen lamps ignited as Arthur and Molly ran through the door.

Molly raised her wand and screamed, " _Ferula!_ "

Aaron gasped. "Charlie-"

"I've got you," Charlie said, pressing against what felt like one of Aaron's organs. There was so much blood. "Stop moving."

The fragments of gauze summoned by Molly's bandaging spell were soaked with blood faster than they could be applied.

Charlie cradled Aaron's head in his lap. "He needs a healer!"

"If we move him, it could kill him," Molly said. "I'll bring one back."

She ran for the fireplace.

Ginny, Ron, and Fred came down the stairs. Molly raised her wand and cast a ward, sealing off the first floor.

Fred pushed against the boundary of the enchantment. "Do you mind telling us what the bloody hell is happening? Is someone dying in our kitchen?"

Molly grabbed a handful of floo powder. "Take your siblings upstairs and do not, for the love of Merlin, let them come down here."

"I thought I heard-"

"Take them upstairs now, Fred."

Molly stepped into the fireplace.

Arthur grabbed a stack of towels from the hallway closet, ran back into the kitchen, and helped Charlie hold them against Aaron’s mutilated body.

"Arthur, you have to tell the Aurors." Aaron choked on his own blood. "They're going to attack the Council of Magic."

"Aaron, stop. Hold still before-"

"Who is, son?" Arthur asked.

"The fucking _Death Eaters_. You have to tell the Aurors now."

"Aaron, stop moving-"

Aaron's lips and tongue were covered with blood. "Paris,” he spit out. “The Council building is rigged with explosives; not spells; muggle explosives. As soon as they start their morning session, they will all die like the Assembly in Prague. Tell the Aurors. And tell Moody."

Arthur stepped back, and disapparated.

Aaron looked at Charlie. Blood ran down his chin. "I tried to-"

"Don't talk. You can't afford the effort."

"That bad?" His words came out gurgled.

Aaron's blood had soaked through Charlie's clothes and covered the tile beneath them. He knew Aaron saw the fear on his face. "Just focus on breathing."

Molly and Madam Pomfrey ran into the kitchen, covered in soot. Before Pomfrey could get on the floor, and get to Aaron, the air between them _CRACK_ compressed and expanded. Albus Dumbledore appeared. 

He stepped over Aaron's splayed legs and looked at Charlie. "Did you check him?"

"What?"

"Did you check him for the Dark Mark? Did you check his arm?" Dumbledore leaned down and pulled on the only arm Aaron had left. Aaron tried to say something, but there was too much blood in his throat.

There wasn't anything on his arm.

Dumbledore leaned over him. "Where is it? Did you have them put it on your right arm instead? Is that why your arm is gone?"

Pomfrey stepped between Aaron and Dumbledore with her hands raised. She siphoned blood out of Aaron's mouth and throat. Aaron gasped. Pomfrey tore off the remains of his shirt and started to knit his flesh back together.

The woman with tangled hair hadn't stopped screaming. The man shook in the corner by the stove.

Dumbledore reached for Aaron again. Charlie stood over Aaron and Pomfrey, and aimed his wand at the old wizard. "Don’t touch him."

"He's a Death Eater," Dumbledore said.

"Did you know he was alive? All this time?"

"You don't know how dangerous he is."

Aaron's blood dripped off Charlie's raised wand. "Get away from him."

Pomfrey looked up from the floor. "Albus, he’s dying. Did you bring the Phoenix tears?"

Dumbledore reached into his robe and took out a vial. He handed it to Charlie.

Charlie took the Phoenix tears and kept his wand raised. "You knew.”

Dumbledore disapparated.

Charlie knelt next to Aaron and held the vial to his lips, but Aaron had lost too much blood. His body had gone limp.

Charlie tilted Aaron’s head back and forced the Phoenix tears down his throat.

He wasn't losing him again.

* * *

Molly used cleaning spells, but the tile floor's grout, the wood-burning stove, and the undersides of the kitchen cabinets held onto Aaron's blood for hours. The smell of it permeated The Burrow; heavy, wet iron and copper. She told everyone to stay out of the kitchen. It didn't matter. No one wanted to go near it after what had happened.

Charlie stood over Aaron. 

_The Blood-Replenishing Potion and Phoenix tears are working. He's not going to die. Calm down._

They had debated taking Aaron to St. Mungo's with the man and woman they realized - after some coaxing - were Frank and Alice Longbottom, but Pomfrey didn't want to arrive with a corpse. It had taken her long enough just to stabilize Aaron so he could breathe on his own.

Molly sat down on the edge of the sofa bed and reached for Aaron's forehead. He still felt cold from the blood loss. He was broader - and looked taller - than he had been the last time Molly had seen him, but he was too thin. Wherever Aaron had been, he hadn't been eating enough.

Charlie looked at the sofa bed. "I can't believe Dad got himself one of these."

"You should have seen him. You know how your father gets. We were driving up to Bristol in that old muggle car of his a few years ago and there it was; in a ditch. It was filthy. The upholstery was in tatters. I told him to leave it, but he had already pulled over, so we loaded it into the car."

"How did you manage that?"

"Shrinking charm," Molly said. "Honestly, Charlie, did you learn anything at Hogwarts?"

"I learned the important things. You can't _Reducio_ a dragon."

The dying embers in the fireplace ignited and green flames poured over the hearth. Madam Pomfrey emerged, carrying a case of vials filled with a red liquid.

"I've made more Blood-Replenishing Potion. How is he?"

"No different from when you left," Molly said.

Pomfrey un-corked one of the vials. With care, Molly took Aaron's jaw, opened his lips, and tilted his head back. Pomfrey poured the potion down his throat. Aaron's neck convulsed while Pomfrey covered his mouth with her palm. She removed her hand a moment later and checked to make sure it had all gone down, then she turned her attention to the right side of Aaron's body. She peeled back the bandages, careful to go slow.

"He's still losing blood," Pomfrey said, "though not nearly as much. The Phoenix tears are doing their job. His right lung has stitched itself closed and his ribs are mending, thanks to the Skele-Gro."

"What about his arm?" Charlie asked, looking at what remained of the right side of Aaron's body. He'd been torn open down to his hip.

"Skele-Gro only re-grows bones," Pomfrey said, without looking up. "It won't do him any good to have arm bones without any muscles, nerves, blood vessels, or connective tissue."

"So, what, he's lost it?"

"He knew the risks associated with apparition," Pomfrey said. "He's lucky the arm is all he lost."

"Aaron isn't an amateur at apparition," Charlie said. "He's bloody brilliant with it."

"Brilliant or not," Pomfrey said, "botching apparition is common when a person's mental state is . . . unsound."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"When Aaron can be moved, I will take him to St. Mungo's for an evaluation, assuming the Aurors don't show up and take him elsewhere."

"Aaron isn't mental," Charlie said. "He knew who I was. He knew he was at The Burrow. He wasn't screaming and drooling in a corner like Alice Longbottom."

The air by the window _CRACK_ separated as Alastor Moody appeared.

Charlie turned around and faced him. "I take it The Department of Magical Law Enforcement knows about Paris."

Moody nodded. "Madam Bones has notified the Council of Magic, and dispatched multiple Aurors."

"Do they know where the information came from?"

Moody's blue eye swiveled. "They don't know Aaron is here, if that's what you're asking."

Charlie eyed the iron shackles Moody carried. “You don’t seem surprised to see him alive.”

Moody wasn’t. “I need him to tell me what happened.”

"You can question him here all you like," Pomfrey said, "but he can't be moved yet."

Moody took out his wand and stood over Aaron. " _Rennervate_."

Aaron's eyes opened and he sat up, coughing up clots of red too dark to be the potion. He gasped and fought to catch his breath. Pomfrey helped him lean forward.

"It's alright," she said, "get it out."

Aaron struggled and coughed more blood clots into his palm. Bubbled strings of dark blood hung between his mouth and his hand. Pomfrey grabbed the mess with a towel.

The room wavered. Aaron watched cobblestone streets and the Charles Bridge merge with the living room. He closed his eyes and forced the movement to stop. He couldn't tell if he was shaking because he had lost so much blood, or because he was shifting through space too fast to perceive. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Aaron looked at Charlie. "Where are Frank and Alice?"

"They're at St. Mungo's," Charlie said. "They're safe."

He should have jumped there, but there hadn’t been enough time, or enough energy, to summon another location.

A wave of nausea made Aaron sweat. His ears rang and the edges of his vision went dark. He tried to remember -

_The park. Staying awake with the dragon._

Pomfrey watched him. "Are you in pain? You shouldn't be feeling much with the strong cocktail of potions I have you on."

"No," Aaron said. It wasn't the pain.

_The park. Staying awake with the dragon._

_Yesterday, I was at Nighford._

He still couldn't remember the rest of his broken memory key. His thoughts were difficult to catch and his awareness of time was nonexistent. 

Aaron didn't want them to know how fragmented his mind was, but he had to know. "How long was I gone?"

"Three years," Charlie said. “We all tried to find you.”

"We thought you were dead," Molly said.

Aaron's face was gaunt and unshaven; he was exhausted. Charlie had never seen him with hair this short. It looked like someone had taken a knife to it. There were dark welts on his face from repeated bruising; his chest and stomach were covered with patches of scar tissue.

_Bloody hell, Aaron. What happened to you?_

Moody leaned over Aaron. "Did you think this stunt would work? Did you think bringing Frank and Alice back with you would protect you?"

”I didn’t think I was going to survive the jump, so, no,” Aaron said, still shaking. He spit more blood into the towel.

“Tell me about London and Prague."

_The park. Staying awake with the dragon._

"I don’t remember what-"

"You were seen in Prague in February," Moody said. "And you were in London two weeks ago."

_Yesterday, I was at Nighford._

"The dates coincide with terrorist attacks orchestrated by the Death Eaters," Moody continued. "They were able to access areas of the cities that are typically inaccessible by apparition; areas protected by wards. You were involved with the attacks."

Aaron couldn’t deny it.

Moody pulled fragmented pieces of ebony out of his coat pocket. A worn heartstring protruded from the splinters in his hand. "You'd think as long as it took you to get this that you would have taken it with you when you left Hogwarts."

Aaron said, "Moody, I didn’t leave it at-"

Moody looked at Pomfrey. "When can he be moved?"


	2. Magical Intervention

**September 1984**

Professor Minerva McGonagall had the only key to the South Tower. As she approached the door, she whispered under her breath and flicked her wand. The guardian enchantments and wards covering the entryway slipped, and allowed her to pass. She inserted the key in the lock, turned it, and pushed open the heavy oak door. Torch light cast shadows across her body as she ascended the stone steps.

It didn't take Minerva long to reach the room at the top. She walked to the desk by the window and took a quill and a folded piece of parchment out of her robe. With fifteen minutes left on the thirty-first of August, she sat down in front of an ancient quill and a book covered with deteriorated dragon hide. 

The pages of the Book of Admittance were yellow and brittle. Her name was somewhere inside, but she didn't know where. She avoided touching the delicate pages more than she had to.

Minerva read through the names in the dim light; the same ones she had seen during her last trip to the tower three days ago. She folded her parchment and tucked it back into her robe.

_It seems we will only have thirteen First Years._

Minerva stood - and turned her back on the book. It was a mistake.

She was at the top of the stairwell when she heard movement, and turned just in time to see the tattered Quill of Acceptance lift into the air. She had never seen the quill write a name; few had.

Minerva crossed the room and watched the enchanted instruments go through the motions of their arcane work. The quill dipped itself into the inkpot and shot back into the air. It hovered over the book for a moment before it touched the open page, and started to write a name.

_A late name._

Minerva waited until the quill finished its task before she took out her own writing instrument and copied the name, birth date, and location of the fourteenth child onto her parchment.

_Aaron Stone. The Eleventh of November, Nineteen Seventy-Two. Glasgow, United Kingdom._

_A late name, indeed._ The boy had turned eleven almost a year ago.

Minerva didn't recognize his surname. He had to be another muggle-born. She waited to see if there would be another last minute addition, but nothing happened.

When it was officially the first day of September, Minerva picked up her parchment and left the tower.

* * *

Arthur Weasley looked through the sheets of parchment sitting on the desk between him and Dumbledore, holding a half-empty glass of pumpkin juice. It was after midnight. He had been in Dumbledore's office for seven hours. Arthur had sent Molly an owl when he arrived at Hogwarts - letting her know he would be home late - but he didn't like getting back to The Burrow after the boys and Ginny were asleep.

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair. "It won't pass."

"I still can't believe it was written," Arthur said. "The fact that the Wizengamot is taking it this seriously and will consider enacting it infuriates me."

"There are many who would welcome the establishment of a commission, Arthur, but they are not the majority, and they will not have enough support."

"This act won't go away," Arthur said. "If it doesn't pass now, those who support the legislation will keep it tucked in their back pockets to use in the future. It's dangerous, and we will have to make sure it-"

Professor McGonagall knocked on the door and came in without waiting for a response. She crossed the room and handed her list to Dumbledore.

"We have a late name," she said. There was no hiding the excitement in her voice.

Dumbledore looked over the top of his glasses, amused. "Did you see the book and the quill in action?"

"I did," Minerva said. "I thought we would only have thirteen First Years. I was about to leave the tower when the quill shot up into the air."

"Minerva, my dear, you have witnessed something remarkable," Dumbledore said.

"I'm sorry, did you say thirteen?" Arthur asked.

"Fourteen now," Minerva corrected.

"That seems a bit low. Why so few?"

"I don't know," Minerva said. "Every so often, we have a slow year. It won't be a problem. If anything, having a smaller group will make things easier, seeing as we'll be able to fit all of the children in the same classes instead of having to break them up by house."

Dumbledore read through the names. "Interesting timing, the distribution of this class. It is the first time, to my memory, that we have had more muggle-born than wizard-born First Years."

"What happens with the muggle-born students? You couldn't send an owl. They would have no idea what to do."

"We insist on recruiting them in person," Minerva said. "Even then, it's no simple task to explain our world to the parents. Often times, we have to use a bit of charm work to help them understand. However, the final decision to send - or to not send - their child to Hogwarts must be made without any type of magical intervention."

"Yes, of course. But these muggles can't all just agree to send their children off to be taught by strangers who sound like mental cases," Arthur said.

"Oh, some don't," Minerva said. "There are always the parents who refuse to acknowledge their child's abilities and laugh in our faces."

"What happens then?"

Dumbledore said, "After a few years of living with a child with magical abilities - and having no idea what to do with them - the parents usually come around."

Minerva said, "Or, they don't, and the child runs away."

"We have had many runaways over the years," Dumbledore confessed. He handed the list back to Minerva. "Can any of the faculty arrive in Glasgow by morning?"

Minerva shook her head. "I've already asked Professor Snape, Madam Hooch, Professor Sprout, Professor Flitwick, and Hagrid to help escort the other muggle-born children tomorrow. I would like to collect the boy myself, as he is here in Scotland; however, I am headed to Manchester in the morning to show Miss Thomas how to board the train."

Arthur said, "Does it have to be a faculty member? I could go get him."


	3. Road Trip

**September 1984**

The bell above the convenience store door rang as Arthur walked inside. He smiled at the attendant and walked toward the coffee pots. Despite the early hour, he felt elated every time he was out in the muggle world. He had spent the last two hours on the road in the Anglia, blasting the _Eurythmics_ , _Duran Duran_ , and _Toyah_ on the radio; muggle music he had never convinced Molly to enjoy. He had driven with the windows rolled down, singing along and drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

Arthur filled a cup and added sugar. He walked up to the magazines and selected a few of the ones covered with a good variety of strange faces, vehicles, and foods. Molly would never try the recipes, but he always caught her reading the gossip articles when she thought he wasn't looking.

Arthur grabbed a package of biscuits to go with the coffee and set everything on the counter.

The attendant scanned the magazines.

"If you don't mind," Arthur said, "what is that in your shirt?"

"In my shirt?"

"Yes, in your pocket. With the pens."

The attendant looked down and pulled his shirt away from his chest.

"I hope you don't mind. It is just that I have never seen one before."

"My pocket protector?"

"A pocket protector! No doubt to protect your shirt from ink should your pens leak! I hear they tend to do that."

"Are you taking the piss with me?"

Arthur tried to remember what this meant. "Excuse me?"

"Have you lost the plot?"

"I didn't mean to offend you. I just have never seen a pocket protector is all."

The attendant glared and rang up the rest of Arthur's things.

Arthur would hate himself later if he didn't at least ask. "Do you know where I could get one? Could I, perhaps, buy yours?"

"Oh, for the love of-"

"Again, I don't mean to offend you. I genuinely would like to buy it."

The attendant pulled the pocket protector off his shirt and set it on the counter. "You know what? If it gets you out of here, take it. Take the bloody thing. Take the pens, too."

Arthur tried to hide his excitement as the attendant handed him blue and red pens. 

_This is wonderful!_

Arthur paid for his things and slipped the man an extra thirty pounds, having no idea what pocket protectors or pens cost. 

Seeing the writing instruments made him remember the telephone number on the scrap of parchment in his pocket. The sun was coming up. It would be alright to call now. "Is there a payphone nearby that I can use?"

"If you drive down a ways to the grocer, there's one out front."

"Thank you so much for your generosity."

Arthur took his things and left the store. He whistled and opened the biscuits when he got to the car.

The attendant watched him.

"Nutter," he muttered, as the red-haired man pulled out of the station.


	4. No Such Thing

**September 1984**

The house Arthur drove past was small and the narrow street was crowded. He had to park two blocks away. Unexpected roadway construction after his stop at the petrol station had made the drive from Hogwarts to Glasgow take five hours instead of three and a half, and his legs were stiff. He stretched and yawned as he got out of the car. Arthur had slept on a sofa at Hogwarts for a few hours before he had gotten on the road, but it hadn't been enough and the coffee was long gone.

He checked the address - number twelve oh six. Arthur walked up the front steps and rang the bell.

A man opened the door.

"Good morning," Arthur said. "Are you Mr. Lewis?"

"I am Michael Lewis, yes."

"We spoke on the telephone earlier. I'm Arthur Weasley."

"I figured as much. Well, come on in."

Arthur followed the man inside.

"Can I get you some tea? Coffee?"

"Tea would be lovely," Arthur said.

"Right then, have a seat."

Arthur sat down in the living room and studied his new surroundings. There were books stacked on a stool by the staircase and terry cloth rugs on the hardwood floors. Some type of battery-powered device and thin plastic cartridges with circular holes in them had been left on the table in front of him. A television set - he knew what that was at least - was inside a cabinet in the far corner. If only he had brought his camera.

Michael walked back in the room and handed Arthur a mug. "I still don't understand how the school you represent knew about Aaron. He hasn't applied to any scholarship programs that I'm aware of, especially not at a private school."

"Perhaps a teacher recommended him?"

"Not likely. Aaron hasn't had the luxury of getting to know many of his teachers. They've moved him around so often. I took him on so he could stay in one place for the school year."

"Took him on? Are you not his family? I realize you don't share a surname, but I thought perhaps you were a relative."

"No, I foster children. Aaron is a ward of the court."

"Oh," Arthur said. "I see." He didn't.

"Don't get me wrong, the school you represent sounds ideal. I think Aaron would really benefit from going someplace where he could get more attention. But I can't make those types of decisions. It would be up to his social worker."

_Well, this certainly complicates things._

"Would it at least be alright if I met the boy? I would very much like to speak with him while I'm here."

"May I see some sort of identification or proof that you're from the school? I always hesitate to introduce any of the children in my care to strangers, especially when there's been a history of mental illness in the family."

Arthur took two pieces of parchment out of his pocket. The first had been enchanted to appear as a driver's license and the second was a certificate Dumbledore had given him.

Michael looked over the documents. "I've never heard of Hogwarts."

"Not many people have. The school is highly selective."

"And you think Aaron qualifies to attend?"

"We do, yes."

Michael looked skeptical. "Do you mind if I write down your information?"

"Not at all," Arthur said. He handed the man one of his newly acquired blue pens. "Tell me about Aaron."

"I've only had him for three weeks," Michael said, copying down the name of a town in Devon that he had never heard of. "He's a good kid, but he isn't exceptional. If anything, his academics have suffered because of all the times he's been moved around. And he's had other . . . struggles. It's all left him a bit withdrawn."

Arthur heard footsteps at the top of the stairs. He leaned closer to the other man.

"Has he really got no one?"

"I'm afraid not."

"His parents, what, are they dead?"

"I don't know. His mother was a nutter. Probably bipolar, or an addict. She surrendered the boy when he was seven months old, before she was admitted to an institution. She might still be there, for all I know. She gave up her parental rights."

"What about his father?"

"His father could be anyone."

"What happened last night?" Arthur asked.

"I don't understand."

"Just before midnight, did something strange happen here? With Aaron?"

"No," Michael said, "not at all."

"Has anything strange ever happened around Aaron?"

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean by strange."

"Have you noticed objects moving on their own? Things disappearing? Anything exploding or shrinking? Is he talking to animals?"

"No, no, nothing like that," Michael said. "He isn't a delinquent. And he isn't a nutter like his mum. Mr. Weasley, are you sure you've got the right child?"

"I would like to meet him in order to make sure."

Michael stood up and walked toward the stairs. "Wait one moment."

He came back with a dark-haired boy who looked to be about Charlie's age. The boy's shirt was too big on him. He tugged the long sleeves down over his wrists.

"Hello, Aaron. I'm Arthur Weasley. Did Mr. Lewis tell you about the school I came from?"

Aaron's hair fell into his eyes. He pushed it back and looked at Arthur with suspicion.

"It's alright," Arthur said. "I just want to talk to you."

Aaron didn't move.

"Michael, could I get more tea?"

"Right." He took Arthur's mug and left the room.

Arthur looked at Aaron. "Can I show you something?"

Arthur took out his wand. He held it up between him and the boy. 

" _Lumos_."

He handed the glowing wand to Aaron. The boy took it and turned it over in his hands, examining it. 

Arthur touched the wand a moment later. The light faded out.

Michael was still in the kitchen. "Do you want to see more?"

Aaron shrugged.

Arthur pointed his wand at the books by the stairs. " _Wingardium Leviosa_."

 _The Count of Monte Cristo_ lifted off the top of the stack and floated across the room. It hovered between Arthur and Aaron.

"Go ahead. You can take it," Arthur told him.

Aaron took the book out of the air. "How'd you do that?"

Arthur smiled. "Magic."

"There's no such thing," Aaron said.

"Who told you that?"

"No one. There just isn't."

"If I can get permission for you to come with me, would you? Would you let me take you to a school where you can learn how to use magic?"

"Magic isn't real."

"Are you so sure?"

Arthur leaned forward. "Has anything strange ever happened to you before? Have you ever noticed things falling off of shelves or doors slamming around you? When you get angry, does it feel like you can make the room shake?"

Aaron didn't know what to say. Nothing like that had ever happened to him.

Michael came back into the room and handed Arthur his mug.

Arthur took it from him. "Who would I need to speak with to get permission to take Aaron to-"

Something scratched the window. Arthur and Michael turned.

"It's a bloody owl," Michael said.

"So it is," Arthur said, standing up. He opened the front door. The owl flew from the window sill and landed on his outstretched arm. Arthur took a stack of papers out of its beak, gave the creature a few pieces of the crumbled biscuit in his pocket, and tossed it back into the air.

"What the hell was that?" Michael asked.

Arthur looked through the documents. He handed the papers to Michael.

"What is it?" Aaron asked.

"Your guardianship papers from the court. They've been signed by your social worker. She's transferred your guardianship to someone named Albus Dumbledore."

"That's the headmaster at Hogwarts," Arthur said. "He must have met with her before I arrived."

"This isn't the usual procedure. I need to call her." 

Michael went back into the kitchen, picked up the telephone receiver, and dialed the number on the piece of paper he had taped to the refrigerator. It rang twice before she answered.

"Hello, Rachel? This is Michael Lewis."

"Good morning, Michael. I was just about to call you."

"Did you release Aaron Stone from my care? There's a man here who says he wants to take him to a school in the Highlands. A bloody owl just showed up with Aaron’s guardianship papers."

"Ah, yes, Professor Dumbledore was waiting at my office when I arrived this morning. He mentioned something about the school having trained owls.”

“Trained owls? He sounds like a damn nutter.”

“Not at all. I reviewed his credentials. Aaron will be well taken care of."

Michael exhaled into the receiver. "This is all rather unexpected. I thought you wanted me to make sure Aaron could get through one damn school year in the same place."

"He will get through the school year in one place, just not with you, I'm afraid. I appreciate that you took him in on such short notice, but the school had a last minute opening and the plan has changed."

"He was finally getting comfortable here with me is all. I told him not to worry about being relocated for awhile, and now you've gone and done this."

"I understand, believe me. But I can't deny Aaron this opportunity. This could be a permanent placing, if it all works out. He needs that."

Michael heard Rachel look through a stack of papers. "I was told Aaron could get a ride to Hogwarts this morning from the man at your house; a Mr. Weasley?"

"Yes, that's him."

"I'm sorry for the short notice, Michael. You've been more than generous."

"I suppose I understand, but I’m not the one you should apologize to.”

Michael hung up the telephone and walked back into the living room. He looked at the kid he had finally - just three nights ago - convinced to join him in the kitchen for meals.

"Aaron, do you want to go to Hogwarts?"

"I thought I was staying with you until school was over."

"I know. It seems there's been a change of plans."

Aaron looked at Arthur, and then back at Michael. He still held _The Count of Monte Cristo._ "Do I have to go?"

Michael nodded. "I'm afraid so. I'll help you pack, if you want."

"No," Aaron said, sounding upset. "I'll do it myself."

He grabbed the stuff on the table in front of the sofa, took the rest of the books off the stool, and stomped upstairs.

Michael turned to Arthur and handed him Aaron’s guardianship papers. "You'll take care of him?"

"Yes," Arthur said, "you have my word."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I updated some of the dialogue in this chapter on 10/29/20. Nothing that changed the meaning or the events of the story, just enhanced them. I'm going to do the same thing for a few of the other early chapters, and fix some of the grammatical errors. Also, I was told that "dissipated" should be "disapparated", so I am also going through and fixing that blatant error. Thanks to bludotz for the heads up.


	5. Say It Again

**July 1994**

Alastor Moody fastened a heavy iron shackle around Aaron's wrist. Aaron hadn't stood this long since before he jumped to The Burrow. He was weak, and he had to lean against the concrete wall. 

The tile beneath his shoes was stained with dark, uneven circles, and a drain was in the middle of the floor. He didn't know where Moody had taken him, but it didn't matter. He knew an interrogation room when he saw one.

Moody took a vial out of his coat and poured three drops down Aaron's throat. Aaron didn't fight him.

Moody waited for the potion to work its way into Aaron's bloodstream. 

"Say it again."

"I'm not a Death Eater, Moody. I told you - I was their goddamn _prisoner_."

"Tell me what happened in London."

"I don't remember all of it, but I know I jumped Death Eaters into and out of the city during the attack. And they used me to get the explosives into the square."

"Was it the same in Prague?"

"As far as I know, yes," Aaron said. "And it would have been the same in Paris."

Moody grabbed Aaron's right shoulder and dug his fingers into his shirt and still-healing flesh. Aaron grimaced and dropped to his knees. 

"Tell me - right now - why I shouldn't take you to Azkaban."

Aaron winced. "I wasn't in control."

"For three years? Don't give me that Imperius Curse shit, Aaron. You were trained to withstand it and shut it out of your damn head."

Moody's fingers were still in his shoulder. The pain made him nauseous. "They're using the Imperius Curse in a way that you and Juliet never could have taught me to-"

"I bet you thought that would make a good excuse. So many other Death Eaters have."

"I'm _not_ a fucking Death Eater."

Moody let go of him. Aaron made himself stand up.

"Why did you defect, Aaron? Did I not do enough for you?"

"I didn't defect, Moody."

"Stop fighting the Veritaserum."

"I'm not. I didn't defect, and I didn't participate in what happened in London or Prague - or any of the other shit that happened - of my own free will. They were controlling me."

The old Auror didn't say anything.

"Moody." Aaron held onto the wall and tried to keep his uneven body balanced. He needed more time to recover. "I don’t know what you’ve heard - if Dumbledore told you who I am, or if you figured it out another way - but I’m not one of them. I never would have consciously walked away from being an Auror, or from you.”

Moody's blue eye never left his face. "You tried to kill me in London, Aaron."

"What? No. I don’t-"

"You had a chain around my neck. Does that sound familiar?”

"I don't remember most of what happened in London."

_Fuck my mind._

_The park. Staying awake with the dragon._

_What were the other three?_

_Yesterday, I was at The Burrow._

Moody hit him in the face.

"I saw your eyes. You're weren't under the Imperius Curse."

Aaron spit blood on the floor and grabbed his bleeding nose. “It doesn’t work like that. Not with the new method they use. I can explain how it-”

Moody shoved his wand into Aaron's neck. 

"Moody, please, don't," Aaron said. "If you don’t believe me, then take my memories. My mind can't-"

"Why did you defect, Aaron?"

"I never-"

Moody hit him with the Cruciatus Curse.

Aaron's body went rigid; seized with burning pain in his nerves. He reached for the wall, but he was already on the floor. His arm pulled hard in its socket, straining against the short chain and the shackle secured above his head.

"Why did you defect?!"

Aaron writhed on the floor. He couldn't respond.

Moody stopped the curse. Aaron shook. He caught his breath and tried to stand, but he didn't get farther than his knees.

"Moody," Aaron said. His broken mind couldn't take anymore. "Please. Take my memories."

Moody raised his wand. Aaron flinched, but Moody went for his ear. Aaron surrendered everything from the night he'd jumped from Dumbledore's office in 1991 to the moment he'd appeared on the Weasleys' kitchen floor. Moody extracted long coils of white silk from his head and went to a corner on the far side of the room.

A pensieve materialized from the wall. Moody dropped the tangled strands of Aaron's memories into the bowl, stirred them until they unraveled, and submerged his head. 


	6. Relocated

**September 1984**

Aaron didn't want to tell Arthur Weasley, but riding in cars made him sick. It usually took an hour or so for him to feel nauseous, but today he felt like he was going to throw up before they left Glasgow. He leaned against his duffel bag and rolled down the window. It was overcast and warm. He tried not to look as sick as he felt when Arthur asked him what kind of music he liked.

The radio and the motion of the car made Aaron's eyes heavy as he curled up on the front seat.

When he woke up, the Ford Anglia was parked in front of a convenience store. Arthur was using a payphone. With the car windows open, Aaron heard everything he said.

"I know, and I'm sorry I'm going to miss it," Arthur said. "Tell Charlie I will meet him in Hogsmeade. I will be there when he gets off the train."

Now that the car wasn't moving, Aaron felt better. He unscrewed the cap on his bottle of water and took a few sips, seeing how his stomach felt.

"I don't know, Molly. Dumbledore didn't mention anything about taking him to get supplies, and now we're out of time. Send everything you can with Charlie. This kid doesn't have anything; no quills, no parchment, no books, and no robes. I'm sure they'll give him some things when he arrives, but I don't want him showing up with nothing on his first day."

_Did he say robes?_

"Of course, but he's muggle-born, Molly. I didn't want to throw everything at him at once."

Aaron turned the radio dial and tried to find a song that wasn't from the decade before he was born, but none of the other stations came in clearly.

"I've run out of time. I love you, dearest. I will see you tonight."

Arthur hung up the handset and got back in the car.

Aaron looked at him. "What's muggle-born?"

"It means your parents weren't magical. Muggle is wizard slang for someone who can't use magic."

Arthur started the car and pulled out of the parking lot.

"I can't use magic."

"Yes, you can," Arthur said.

Aaron shook his head. "I've never used magic before."

"You probably have and just didn't realize it," Arthur said. "Did anything happen last night? Maybe something strange?"

“No.” 

The strangest thing that had happened to Aaron in the past twenty-four hours was the arrival of Mr. Weasley and the tame owl.

Arthur said, "I wouldn't worry too much about it. When you get to Hogwarts, everything will make sense."

"But if I'm a muggle and I can’t-"

"You're not a muggle. You're muggle- _born_. Sometimes children who can use magic are born into non-magical families, like you. It doesn't mean you aren't just as capable as children who come from magic. If anything, it means you should get the best magical-based education you can. The professors at Hogwarts will teach you everything, you'll see. It is critical that you learn how to control your abilities. And how to defend yourself."

Arthur merged onto the motorway. Aaron felt sick again. He hated cars.

"Defend myself?"

Arthur turned down the radio. "Not all wizards and witches are good people, Aaron. Some use magic to hurt others. Now that you are in our world, you will have to learn how to protect yourself."

Aaron looked pale.

"Are you alright?"

He wasn't. He could taste bile in the back of his throat. "Sometimes riding in cars makes me sick."

"Oh, you should have told me," Arthur said. "Here, this will help."

He took out his wand, pointed it at Aaron, and muttered, " _Tarda Nauseam_."

Aaron tried to pretend like this was normal. He waited, clutching his stomach to keep the contents at bay. It wasn't getting better. "Was that supposed to do something?"

"You'll have to give it a minute, I'm afraid. It's a spell used to alleviate nausea and headaches. I came up with it to help my wife - she's experienced her share of morning sickness. I'm afraid it won't get rid of your car sickness completely - and it's a bit slow acting - but it should make the rest of our trip bearable once it kicks in."

Aaron leaned against his duffel bag and closed his eyes. It felt like the whole damn world was moving.

Arthur watched him. "Do I need to pull over?"

Aaron almost said yes, but the sick feeling started to fade. The bile in his throat receded and his stomach settled.

He opened his eyes. "I think it's working."

"I'm glad. You had me a bit worried."

A few hours later, clouds blocked the top of the mountains from sight. The radio station faded in and out as they drove along curves and gained elevation. Aaron tried to get the music back, but everything on the dial had turned to static. He shut the radio off.

Arthur broke the silence. "You seemed rather upset about leaving Glasgow. I imagine my visit was a bit of a surprise. Sorry about that."

Aaron shrugged. "Doesn't matter. It's always the same."

"What is?"

"When I get moved."

"How often have you been relocated?"

Aaron kept his eyes on the dashboard. He didn't like talking about this. Especially not with an adult he had known for all of four hours. "I don't know. A lot."

"Is that normal for someone in your . . . situation?"

 _It is when no one wants you because they think you'll turn out as mental as your nutter mum._ He shrugged and looked down.

Arthur dropped the topic and turned onto a gravel road.

After a few miles, they came to what looked like a road block with a sign that said the bridge was out ahead.

"I'm going to drive through it. Don't worry," Arthur said. He didn't slow down.

Aaron braced himself for some kind of impact, but nothing happened. They drove through the sign and the wooden boards as if they were a mirage.

"There's nothing like a well-cast bit of concealment spell work," Arthur said.

The trees grew close to the road, blocking out the sky and covering the road in shadows. Arthur turned on the headlights. Roots broke through the dirt and gravel, making for a bumpy ride.

When the trees receded, Arthur said, "There's Hogwarts. Look and see for yourself."

Aaron leaned out of his window - not sure if what he was seeing was real.

_That can't be the school._

In the valley beneath them - way off in the distance on the other side of a pristine lake - stood a massive medieval castle. The slate on the turrets shimmered in the breaking sunlight and a train steamed across the far side of the mountains.

Arthur watched Aaron. "Do you see the castle?"

"Yes."

"Do you see a train?"

"The red one?"

Arthur laughed. "I told you - you aren't a muggle! Hogwarts is bewitched and protected by spells that prevent muggles from being able to see it for what it really is. If you see the castle, and you see the train, you aren't a muggle."


	7. There's No Turning Back

**September 1984**

The platform at the train station in Hogsmeade was crowded. Arthur walked through groups of students with Aaron on his heels, carrying his duffel bag. He saw Bill first.

"Where's your brother?"

"On the train," Bill said. "I told him to get off."

"Tell me he didn't bring the lizard."

"He did," Bill said, "and it got loose. He wouldn't listen when I told him to leave it. There's no way they'll let him keep it."

Arthur walked across the platform and got on the Hogwarts Express. Aaron followed him.

Arthur checked the compartments as he walked down the aisles. The cleaning brooms had already started to come through. 

Charlie was in the center compartment in the third to last car, standing on a seat and trying to reach the shelf above his head.

"What are you doing, Charlie? Your classmates are all on the platform."

"I can't leave him," Charlie said. He jumped to see on top of the shelf. It was empty.

"They won't let you keep a lizard at Hogwarts, Charlie. You know that. Cats, rats, and owls only. Maybe the occasional toad."

"He's a moke, not a lizard, Dad."

"They still won't let you keep him."

"But I can't just leave him on the train either," Charlie said.

Arthur was too tired to argue and, besides, it was Charlie's first day. It would be best not to say goodbye on a bad note. He started checking shelves.

Aaron set his duffel bag in the aisle and leaned against the compartment doorframe, watching Charlie look under the seats. After a moment, he knelt down next to him. "What does this moke thing look like?"

"A lizard," Charlie confessed, "but it can change size. It might have shrunk down and wedged itself in somewhere."

After they searched three compartments, Arthur checked the aisle. Hagrid walked by outside. He had to get Charlie and Aaron off the train. Arthur couldn't see above the windows, so he slid his hands along the trim. Something pinched beneath his index finger and hissed. The moke expanded and fell into his hands.

"I've got him!"

He handed the squirming reptile to Charlie.

"Are you sure I can't keep him? He won't bother anyone."

"No," Arthur said, "give him to Hagrid. Do not keep the lizard, Charlie. Now, let's get you boys to the boats."

Charlie tucked the moke into his robe.

Aaron and Charlie followed Arthur off the train. They walked to the stacks of luggage. Arthur spotted the trunk Molly had sent with Charlie and pulled it out of the pile. Molly had it well organized and a few of Bill's old robes were on top. Arthur grabbed one.

"Here you go, Aaron. Put this on over your clothes. You can leave your bag with the others."

"But my name's not on it."

"It doesn't matter," Arthur said, "they will get it all sorted. It will be waiting for you on your bed, I promise."

Aaron set his bag on top of Charlie's trunk and pulled the robe over his head. It was too long and dragged on the platform. Arthur knelt down and helped him roll up the sleeves.

"You'll grow into it," Arthur said, trying to hide his smile.

He looked at his son. "I mean it. Give the lizard, moke - whatever it is - to Hagrid before you get inside."

"I will," Charlie said.

"You're going to have a great year. If you need anything, send an owl and your mother and I will do what we can. Or, talk to Bill. Aaron is muggle-born, so explain things to him when he has questions."

Arthur hugged Charlie. "I'll see you at Christmas."

Arthur looked at Aaron. "If you need anything, you can talk to Bill, too, or send an owl to me and my wife. Charlie can show you how."

"FIRST YEARS!" Hagrid yelled from the far end of the platform.

"Go on now," Arthur said, "before you both get left behind."

* * *

Aaron followed Charlie out of the train station, trying not to trip on the robe. He felt like a dolt the way he was walking.

Charlie slowed down until he caught up. "Do you want to hold him for a minute?"

"The . . . moke?"

"Yeah, if you want to," Charlie said. "I'll have to give him up soon. Hagrid is the massive bloke with the lantern."

Aaron stretched out his hands and Charlie handed him the creature. "It's not a lizard? It looks like a lizard."

"No, mate, mokes are different. I found him in the meadow by our house at the beginning of the summer. It was scared at first. I think someone tried to kill it. They are killed all the time because the hides are used to make bags. Can you believe that rubbish?"

Aaron didn't. There didn't seem to be enough moke in his hands to make much of anything.

"It's an awful practice," Charlie said, "should be illegal."

Aaron passed the writhing reptile back to Charlie and picked up the front of his robe before he fell on his face.

A girl with sandy hair stood on the path in front of them. She waved and yelled, "Oi! Charlie! Hagrid's gonna leave you!"

"Is not!" Charlie shouted back, but he walked faster.

"Did you find him?" she asked as they joined her.

Charlie nodded. "Got him in my pocket. Can't keep him though. Going to give him to Hagrid."

"He'll take care of him."

Charlie shrugged. "So long as he doesn't sell him, or skin him alive."

Aaron still lifted his robe off the ground as they walked. The girl looked at his feet and got excited. "You've got muggle shoes! You muggle-born?"

He hadn't noticed how different his trainers were compared to what they wore. "What of it?"

"My dad's muggle-born!" She stuck out her hand. "I'm Tonks."

He took it long enough to say, "Aaron."

"I didn't see you on the train."

"Didn't take the train."

Hagrid turned around and looked at them. "Catch up! I'm not waiting on ya all night."

The three of them ran to meet up with the rest of the First Years, stood at the back of the group, and got on the last boat.

Aaron went for the bench at the back and sat across from a Japanese girl with long hair. Charlie and Tonks joined him.

Lanterns floated on the lake between the dock and the distant castle. Aaron had spent a lot of time walking through castles with different school groups; standing in lines and listening to wrinkled curators drone on about royal families, inheritance laws, and tapestries. He never thought he'd live in one or -

The Japanese girl nudged him with her foot. "Do you know what's going on?"

Aaron looked away from the castle. "With what?"

"Any of this. Like, who's steering the boats?"

Aaron hadn't even noticed that their vessel was making its way across the lake all on its own.

Tonks leaned over Charlie and looked at them. "The boats are bewitched. Easy charm, I bet. Wanna see a real trick?"

Tonks didn't wait for them to respond. Her face . . . shifted; skin stretched over the changing structure of her cartilage until her nose _does that hurt_ elongated. Her ears shrank against her head as her hair transitioned from brown to crimson.

The Japanese girl gasped and covered her mouth. Aaron stared, not sure what his reaction was supposed to be.

Charlie said, "Well, now you've gone and terrified them."

Tonks laughed until her nose and ears shifted back to their natural appearance and reached her hand out toward the other girl. "I'm Tonks. This is Charlie, and Aaron."

"Eni," the girl responded, shaking Tonks' hand. "Now, explain whatever that was you did."

Tonks told them she was a Metamorphmagus; a shapeshifter. Eni asked her about transfiguration spells and wanted to know if they were similar. Charlie talked about something called an Animagus.

Aaron wondered what the hell he was doing there.

They were almost across the lake when Charlie reached past him with the moke in his hands and leaned over the side of the boat. "Hagrid!"

Hagrid somehow directed his possessed boat - he was the only one in it and it bowed under his weight - until it drifted alongside theirs. Aaron had never seen anyone so massive. 

"What ya got there, Charlie?"

"A moke."

Charlie passed him the reptile, which shrank mid-transfer. Hagrid dropped it, swore, and brought his lantern down to the hull of his craft. Aaron saw a flash of green before Hagrid scooped the moke up. He whispered to the creature and ran a finger along its back until it grew back to its previous size.

"Where'd ya find him?"

"The Burrow," Charlie said. "Mum and Dad let me keep him all summer, but Dad said I had to give him to you now. Set him free someplace safe, yeah? I don't want anyone to turn him into a bag."

Hagrid said, "I'll find him a nice patch of meadow."

He tucked the moke into his shirt pocket and looked at Aaron. "This a friend of yours, Charlie?

"Is now," Charlie said. "This is Aaron. He's muggle-born."

Hagrid smiled at Aaron. "Some of the best witches and wizards of all time were muggle-born. Don't let anyone tell you differently. Whoever does don't know nothing."


	8. I'll Spare You the Songs

**September 1984**

Aaron stared at the spellbound candles floating above his head _more magic_ as Professor McGonagall escorted him and the other First Years into The Great Hall. He didn't like the way the older students watched them, whispering to each other and pointing, at what he didn't know.

Professor McGonagall lined them up at the front of the room. Aaron stood between Charlie and Tonks.

A man with a white beard walked up to the podium and adjusted his glasses. "For those of you who don't know me, I am Professor Albus Dumbledore; the headmaster here at Hogwarts. For those of you who have returned - and expected to find things exactly as you left them - allow me to break your illusions, starting with the young class standing before you. More than half of these children have come to us from non-magical families."

A murmur went through the tables.

"Quiet," Professor McGonagall said.

Dumbledore looked down at the First Years. "In the end, you will find that it doesn't matter where you came from, or who your parents were. You are now a part of the magical community. If you are feeling out of place - and as though nothing makes sense - that is to be expected. In time, everything will be made clear, and you will find that you always belonged here with us."

Professor McGonagall walked forward and placed a tattered hat on a wood stool in front of the podium.

"If you look around you," Dumbledore continued, "you will see four tables. There is a table for each one of the houses: Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, and Slytherin. You will now be sorted into the house that will become your family during your time at Hogwarts."

"Wait," Eni whispered to Tonks, "they're going to separate us?"

"Well, yeah," Tonks said, "have to make sure the nitwits and cowards don't end up sharing rooms with the know-it-alls and show-offs."

"How do they know which ones of us are-"

Professor McGonagall hushed them and faced the rest of her charges. "Let's begin with Mister Rhodus Carrow."

The boy who walked up to the stool was taller than the rest of the First Years, and he looked a lot older than eleven. Professor McGonagall picked up the hat and set it on his head.

A boy with blonde hair leaned into Charlie. "Is the hat . . . moving?"

"It talks, too," Charlie said.

The hat opened its . . . mouth? "Slytherin!"

Aaron, Eni, and the blonde-haired boy jumped. A cheer went up from the table at the far side of the hall.

The next First Year - a girl whose robe was also too big on her, Aaron noticed - was placed in Hufflepuff, followed by a girl and a boy who were both placed in Slytherin.

"Miss Eni Iro," Professor McGonagall called out.

Eni walked forward and sat down. The hat slid down and covered her eyes.

A few minutes passed. The hat shifted around on Eni's head. It seemed to be talking to her, but Aaron couldn't make out what it was saying, or any of Eni's responses.

Their private conversation went on for ten more awkward minutes.

Professor McGonagall looked excited. "We have a hat stall!"

The hat didn't like her proclamation. "Sometimes, it takes a bit longer. You, of all witches, should know that, Minerva."

Eni bit her bottom lip and fidgeted, waiting for her fate to be decided beneath the frayed brim.

Aaron asked Charlie, "What's a hat stall?"

"Dad told me it's rare. It's what happens when the hat can't figure out where to put you. Looks like Eni's got some mixed traits."

The hat finally declared, "Ravenclaw!"

Eni got off the stool, took another look at Aaron, Charlie, and Tonks, and headed for the loud table waiting to greet her.

The next boy was placed in Hufflepuff, followed by a girl who was sorted into Gryffindor, and another boy who was placed in Slytherin.

"Mister Aaron Stone."

Aaron walked forward. The hall was silent.

Professor McGonagall placed the hat on his head.

"Well," the hat said in his ear, "aren't you a surprise?"

Aaron shifted on the stool, uncomfortable. He didn't like the way the students at the tables watched him.

"Don't worry about them. They've all been up here before, same as you."

Was the hat in his -

"I certainly am. Would you rather talk to me directly?"

"You can . . . read my mind?"

"How else am I supposed to know where to put you? Your unsorted hair isn't a trait. It does bollocks for my conclusion."

Aaron didn't want a damn talking hat in his head.

"Not much you can do about it if you want a place to sleep tonight."

Aaron groaned. "Fine. Have at it."

He looked at the clock on the back wall. It felt like he'd already been up here too long. Charlie and Tonks whispered to each other and -

"You don't think you belong here."

Aaron grabbed the hat _that's enough of this_ and almost yanked it off his head.

"If you do that, I will sort you right into the lake," the hat said. Aaron still clutched its worn fabric. "I know all of this is strange to you, but feeling out of sorts is no reason to assault me."

It was right, he realized. He’d never had to consider the feelings of a sentient object before. Aaron let go. "Sorry, I just-"

"You've been mistreated a lot in the past. It's made you distrustful. I don't blame you for that. But it's also given you a lot of fight. And you still care a lot more about other people than you think you do. Let's see . . . "

Aaron waited, but the hat didn't say anything else. "Are you going to stall?"

"No, no," the hat said. "You'll make a fine GRYFFINDOR!"

The far table erupted in applause.

"Good luck, son," the hat told him as Professor McGonagall lifted it off his head, "try not to attack the portraits, too."

Charlie stepped forward to clap him on the back as he walked toward the cheering table. It was loud and crowded, but Bill made room for Aaron and waved him over.

"Miss Maddison Thomas," Professor McGonagall called out.

The tall black girl was sorted into Slytherin. 

Professor McGonagall looked up to see who was left. "Miss Nymphadora Tonks."

Tonks walked forward too fast and tripped into the stool.

"Hufflepuff!"

Donaghan Tremlett - another boy with long, messy hair - was also placed in Hufflepuff.

The hat had barely touched Charlie's head before it shouted out, "Gryffindor!"

Bill hollered for his brother.

Professor McGonagall called for the last student; the blonde boy who had stood next to Charlie. "Mister Peter Weston."

Peter was the only other First Year placed in Ravenclaw with Eni.


	9. Grounded

**October 1984**

Aaron sat on the ground next to a lifeless broomstick. His classmates were in the air above him, chasing each other in a game of tag supervised by Madam Hooch. The instructor had enchanted the brooms so they couldn't fly past certain boundaries, but Aaron's had never gotten off the ground. After more than a month of Aaron doing everything but sticking it in a wood chipper, Madam Hooch had taken him by the shoulder and told him not everyone was meant for flying.

It wasn't just flying. Aaron hadn't been able to use magic in any of his classes.

Madam Hooch blew her whistle and the students stopped chasing each other. She lined them up in the air and sent Peter and Rhodus to the ground. 

Peter landed, dropped his broom, and walked away from Rhodus. 

"That's right," Rhodus yelled after him. "Go sit on the sidelines with the other mudblood."

Peter ran up the hill.

Aaron stood up. "Are you alright?"

"No," Peter said, out of breath, "I want to go home. I hate it here. I hate Rhodus."

"He's an arsehole."

"I hate him, Aaron."

Rhodus came up the hill with his wand out. He pointed it at Peter. Aaron stepped between them.

"Put it away," Aaron said.

Rhodus laughed and stuck his wand in Aaron's face. He was a lot taller than he had looked at the sorting ceremony.

"What's wrong, mudblood? Scared of magic?” Rhodus circled Aaron. “You're not even a mudblood. You're a muggle who got lost."

Charlie and Eni landed. Charlie ran up the hill.

"Rhodus!" Charlie yelled. He pulled out his wand. "If you keep picking fights, I'm going to cover your face with warts!"

He meant it. Bill had taught him the spell over the summer.

"Try it, Weasley. Did you even get that wand at Ollivander's? Or did your mum have to rummage for it in a rubbish bin?"

Madam Hooch grabbed Rhodus by his robe. None of them had seen her land. "Stop agitating your classmates in the middle of my lesson! Get your broom, leave it in my shed, and report to Professor Snape for a swift detention. Honestly, Rhodus Carrow, you know better."

Rhodus picked up his broom. Hooch escorted him up the hill.

Aaron asked Charlie, "What the hell is a mudblood?"

"Did he call you that?"

Peter said, "He called us both that."

Eni asked, "What does it mean?"

"A wizard born to non-magical parents," Charlie said. "It means dirty blood."


	10. Player Piano

**November 1984**

Barty Crouch Junior got out of bed at seven o'clock every morning, whether he was awake or not. He walked down the hallway and watched himself turn on the cold water. He stood under the spray in the dark, unable to wince or reach for the light switch. Hot water and light cost money that was better spent not keeping him comfortable. It didn't matter that he was comfortable, only that he was alive and out of sight.

His hands scrubbed his skin raw and pulled too hard at his hair. Soap ran into his eyes and he couldn't blink or wipe it away. He turned off the water and reached for a towel. He dressed, pulling on clothes he hadn't selected. None of it mattered; not the cold water or the darkness or the clothes that were too tight, because this was fine and he was _NO_ happy. This was all _NO_ fine and he _NO_ was _NO_ happy.

He saw himself in the mirror _DO YOU SEE ME TOO LOOK AT ME_ and wished he couldn’t. He lathered and spread the shaving cream on his face, even though he liked himself better with some hair on his chin. He raised the blade _MOVE IT JUST MOVE IT_ and cut the hair off his _MOVE IT TO MY NECK CUT MY NECK_ cheek.

This was all fine. And he was happy.

He tried to imagine blood running down his throat. No, he was _NO_ happy.

He was in the kitchen making coffee. He hadn't noticed. He had put on a record and cut _MY THROAT OPEN_ two pieces of bread, toasted them, and spread _BLOOD_ strawberry jam. He left the coffee and the toast on the table. His body walked across the kitchen and stood in the corner, facing a wall. There were days he stood in the corner for hours. He had memorized the lines _PRISON BARS_ of the wallpaper. 

An hour passed. The _PUPPET MASTER DROPPED THE STRINGS_ toast was cold. The coffee was cold. With a sudden motion that startled him, he poured it out and made more toast. He took _TAKE_ the knife _AND END IT_ and spread more jam. He watched himself rinse the knife clean, dry it with a towel, and put it away. The puppet master didn't make mistakes. His marionette never tripped or fell or drowned or slit his throat.

Because this was all fine. And he _NO NO NO NO NO NO_ was _I'M NOT_ happy.

He heard footsteps. His body turned and faced the corner again. The puppet master didn't like looking him in the eyes. He heard him eat his toast and then he was alone. He stood in the corner, away from the windows, where he couldn't hurt himself _NO_ or _NO_ anyone else.


	11. Any Sign Whatsoever

**December 1984**

Aaron couldn't sleep. He laid in the dark and listened to Charlie's steady breathing and the rain outside the windows. 

McGonagall had taken him out of Transfiguration, and Professor Flitwick told him he should take a break from Charms. Without magic, he couldn't keep up with his classmates, and he failed all of his practical application assignments. He tried to stay ahead with the reading and reports, but he couldn't take exams that were entirely based on whether or not he could perform spells. 

He stopped showing up for flying lessons in November. No one noticed.

"It's alright, dear," McGonagall had told him. "You're just off to a slow start. It happens more often than you'd think. I will put you right back in Transfiguration as soon as you get a feel for the spell work."

By 'get a feel for it', McGonagall meant show any sign whatsoever that he was capable of using magic.

"Isn't there something else I can take?"

"You're doing excellent in Herbology, so I can duel enroll you in the Second Year class," McGonagall said. Of course he was doing well in Herbology. Growing magical plants didn't require a lot of enchantments. "I can also place you in Second Year History of Magic. That way, when you are ready, we can add Charms and Transfiguration back to your schedule."

_MUGGLE MUGGLE MUGGLE MUGGLE_

_If I don't do something with magic soon, they are going to kick me out. I HAVE to use magic._

Aaron sat up. He leaned over the side of his bed and dug through his books and parchments in the dark, trying to find his wand. Well, it wasn't his, not really. It was a training wand McGonagall had given him the first morning in Transfiguration, when he walked in confused and unprepared. It was mahogany with a unicorn hair core. The combination was ideal for consistent magic, she had told him. 

She was right. It had consistently done nothing.

In the bed next to his, Charlie rolled on his back and snored. Aaron pulled his blanket over his head. He wished his Walkman worked, but it had been useless since he arrived. Eni hadn't been able to get hers to work either. She said it had something to do with all of the wards and energy surrounding Hogwarts. Magic and electronics were not well matched. It was why the wizarding world relied so heavily on medieval technology and why sending an owl was the best way to communicate. Charlie said the telephone his father had installed at their house was always shorting out.

Aaron put the headphones on anyway. And held the wand tight. 

" _Lumos_ ," he whispered.

Nothing happened.

" _Lumos_."

He sat in the dark, breathing warm air.

" _Lumos_."

He shook the wand.

" _LUMOS_."

Aaron took off the headphones and got out of bed. He grabbed Charlie's spell book from Charms and went to the common room.

The fireplace was dark and the room was cold. He wished he had put on his sweatshirt.

Aaron reached up on the mantel. There had to be a way to start a fire without using magic, but there weren't any matches or lighters. Oh well. Maybe the dark and the cold would force him to do something.

" _Lumos_."

Not even a flicker.

" _LUMOS."_

_MUGGLE MUGGLE MUGGLE MUGGLE MUGGLE_

_It's not going to work. Try something else._

He opened the spell book and looked for anything familiar, reading by the low light coming from the windows.

"Alright," Aaron said. He aimed the wand at a throw pillow. " _Wingardium Leviosa.”_

The pillow didn’t move.

_MUGGLE MUGGLE MUGGLE MUGGLE MUGGLE_

_"WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA.”_

When nothing happened, Aaron threw the training wand in the fireplace. At least he made something fly.

Charlie walked up behind him. "What are you doing, mate?"

Aaron didn't do a good job of hiding his frustration. "Trying not to get kicked out."

"They aren't going to kick you out."

"Rhodus is wrong about a lot of things, Charlie, but I am a muggle who got lost."

Charlie looked at Aaron's scuffed trainers and his shirt with the name of some muggle band he had never heard of. He should have paid more attention when his dad talked about work. Aaron didn't know much about magic, but Charlie didn't really know anything about the muggle world either.

"Do you want to go back?"

"No," Aaron said. "I want to stay here."

"When you try to use magic, what do you feel?"

"Feel? Nothing. Am I supposed to be feeling something? It seems like all of you just pull some invisible power out of the air and I’ve got nothing."

"Let's try something," Charlie said, "hold up your hand."

Aaron did.

Charlie took out his wand. " _Sentire Idem._ "

A cloud formed at the end of Charlie's wand. He raised his hand and pressed it into Aaron's palm. It hovered in the air between them.

Someone had left a box of Every Flavour Beans on the table by the couch. Charlie ate one. Aaron tasted citrus on his tongue.

"What is this spell?"

"It's used to share sensations and ideas," Charlie said, "as long as both people are in contact with the cloud."

"Is that why I taste orange juice?"

Charlie laughed. "I think it’s lemonade."

Aaron raised an eyebrow. "This is weird."

"Maybe that's your problem, mate," Charlie said. "You have to embrace it."

"I don't think it's embracing me, either."

"Here," Charlie said. " _Lumos_."

The mist brightened - almost glowed - and Aaron felt a current. He felt wind, sun, and long, tall grass against his body.

"That's what it feels like when I use magic," Charlie said. "It feels different for everyone, but this way you know it's real."

Aaron kept his hand raised until the cloud - and the addicting sensations of magic - dissolved between their palms.


	12. VXmort was Half Muggle

**February 1985**

Witches and wizards crowded the main thoroughfare between the fireplaces that lined the arrivals lobby atrium. Dumbledore heard their shouts as soon as he arrived at The Ministry of Magic, appariting into the middle of chaos. Words of protest and support for the Muggle-Born Registration Commission Act had been cast into the air, and drifted above the heads of those who had gathered to voice their opinions.

_RETURN TO BLOOD PURITY_

_THIS TIME THE WITCHES WILL DO THE HUNTING_

_THE DEATH EATERS SUPPORTED BLOOD PURITY, TOO_

A witch carrying a _VXMORT WAS HALF MUGGLE_ sign lunged at a wizard who shot sparks at her face. Two Ministry security agents pulled them apart while the crowd yelled and threw trashed copies of _The Daily Prophet_ at their backs.

The first hearing started in ten minutes.

Dumbledore left the atrium and headed for the main Wizengamot dungeon. 

When he arrived, Millicent Bagnold, the Minister for Magic, stood before the rest of his colleagues. Dumbledore crossed the room and took his assigned seat.

"Thank you all for coming. Our goal this morning is to discuss the newest legislation on the table - the Muggle-Born Registration Commission Act. If enacted, a commission would be established to register and monitor all muggle-born witches and wizards. The commission would also be allowed to capture and detain muggle-borns, should circumstances ever warrant doing so. First, we will hear from the author of the proposed act, Mister Marcus Carrow."

Millicent stepped down and Marcus walked up to the podium.

"You have all seen the protests in our halls and streets, and you know how controversial this act has already proven to be. Allow me to explain how its enactment is the only way forward. Magic has been passed down through generations of pure-blood witches and wizards for centuries, to the last of the sacred twenty-eight families, including my own. When the blood lines are kept pure, we are able to ward off outside influences. However, over the last several decades, our legacies have been weakened by the constant influx of muggle-borns, and we have lost the strength necessary to keep our way of life intact."

Millicent said, "You understand, Mister Carrow, that over half of the witches and wizards sitting before you are half-bloods. Others are married to muggles, or to muggle-borns."

"I do," Carrow said. He looked around the room. "But none of you, to my knowledge, are muggle-born yourselves. I'm not calling for a return to complete separation of our kind from the muggles, but I do believe we have to take steps to prevent their offspring from destroying and tainting what we have built. Muggle-borns enter our world knowing nothing about our history or our customs. They have no respect for our way of life. They introduce their own toxic ideas and bring destructive elements of the muggle world into our own. There must be a process for regulating this outside influence, and the commission would be the answer."

"Your discriminatory act will tear our world apart from the inside, Mister Carrow," Dumbledore said. "I don't think I have to remind you that schools - such as Hogwarts, where your own son is enrolled - exist for the sole purpose of teaching children - muggle-born and wizard-born - our ways and customs."

"Ah, yes, Hogwarts. Your beloved institution isn't perfect. I almost decided to teach Rhodus at home after he told me that you have a muggle-born student who can't even use magic. How many like him have you mistakenly brought into our world, Dumbledore?"

"We are getting off topic," Millicent said. "That is enough for now, Mister Carrow."

Marcus took his seat.

Millicent stepped up to the podium and faced her Wizengamot. "I know that many of you still need time to read through the proposed legislation. We will meet again in April. Please keep in mind the events of recent years, and the delicate nature of handling muggle-borns, as we move forward.”


	13. All the Devils are Here

**April 1985**

Dumbledore tried to push his way through the crowd of supporters who had gathered in the atrium. It was February all over again.

"Do you really think you know what's best for the muggle-borns, Dumbledore?"

Another man spat at him. "That's what I think of your muggle-born students."

He had to get away from these people. This wasn't the time, or the place, for a confrontation.

Dumbledore forced his way through the hostile mass. He saw Arthur standing at the far end of the atrium and walked toward him.

One of the witches he left behind yelled after him, "Do you think you're better than us, Dumbledore? You're nothing but a half-blood!"

Arthur took Dumbledore by the shoulder and led him out of the arrivals lobby. "I'm sorry you had to experience that. The supporters of the act are really at it again today."

"How have you managed with all of them?"

"The Ministry has been allowing us to apparate directly into our offices, so we don't have to walk through them every morning, and the hallways have been enchanted with noise-blocking charms."

They took the stairs down to the second floor.

"I've made a few more comments on the act; just some things I've thought about since we last spoke," Arthur said. "I had one of the scribes leave my notes at your seat. If you see him in the dungeon, please shake his hand. He's muggle-born and he is very excited that you are against the legislation. His name is Bill, like my son."

"I would be honored to meet him," Dumbledore said.

They reached the end of a corridor and walked through a cluster of staff cubicles. Dumbledore said goodbye to Arthur and headed for the main Wizengamot dungeon. 

He found Barty Crouch Senior and Cornelius Fudge standing in the stone-lined corridor outside.

"You're early, Albus," Fudge said.

"Today, yes," Dumbledore said, "but I would hate to make it a habit expected of me, so don't let on."

Barty smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. "We wouldn't dream of it."

"How are you both?"

"I had _The P_ _rophet_ thrown at my head this morning, so I must be doing something right," Fudge said. He pushed open the dungeon doors.

And screamed.

Dumbledore and Crouch drew their wands. 

Four bodies hung in the air. The heads had been removed, but floated - with gruesome magical assistance - above the associated blood-covered necks. Blood covered the victims' chests, arms, legs, and dripped from their shoes and fingertips. More blood covered the wooden benches and the podium. The walls were spattered with dark streaks of red.

Based on the clothing, one of the bodies belonged to the muggle-born scribe.

Dumbledore screamed, "Get them down!"

He raised his hands and used magical energy to pull the scribe toward him. When the mutilated body was close enough to reach, Dumbledore grabbed it out of the air and cradled the dead boy against him. The charm that had been used to make the young man's head float above his butchered neck dissolved. It came free, hit the marble floor, and rolled until the open, lifeless eyes faced Dumbledore.

 _What is that?_ He looked closer. His hands shook.

A crude _M_ had been carved into the dead scribe's forehead. 


	14. Dumbledore’s Deal

**June 1985**

Dumbledore could still see the body of the muggle-born scribe dangling in the air whenever he closed his eyes; a hanging without a rope; an execution. The atrocity had been committed despite the heavy veil of wards that should have prevented anyone who wasn't a sitting member of the Wizengamot from accessing the dungeon. Adelaide Burke, the director of The Department of Magical Law Enforcement, had gone before the Wizengamot two days ago and told them her Aurors were working to determine who had killed the four muggle-borns. When asked if it could have been one of their own, or if the dungeon's enchantments had been compromised, Burke only stated that the killer's means and methods were still undetermined.

Dumbledore was on his third bourbon when Aaron Stone knocked on his door. He poured the rest into his mostly-empty mug of English Breakfast and told the boy to come in.

"Have a seat," Dumbledore said.

Dumbledore looked at Aaron and felt cold. Was it the bourbon? He saw _TOM RIDDLE_ another black-haired _TOM RIDDLE_ orphan sitting in front of him; the years between 1985 and 1938 blurred to non-existence _._

_No, stop. The boy is not Tom._

"You'll have to forgive me," Dumbledore said. He took a long drink and willed his hands to stop shaking. "It has been a busy year and I have not had time to check-in and see how you were getting along. Have you enjoyed your classes?"

The old man looked unsteady. Aaron could smell alcohol on his breath.

"Yes," Aaron said. _T_ _he classes I'm able to stay in, at least._

"I have heard that you are not able to use magic, is that true?"

Ashamed, Aaron said, "Yes, it's true."

Dumbledore didn't seem concerned. He barely seemed to hear him. The old man took a long drink from his mug. "Would you care for some tea?"

Aaron shook his head.

"You can't do any magic? Nothing at all?"

"No."

"Tell me what you've tried," Dumbledore said.

"Levitation, transfiguration, and hundreds of charms. I can't make anything levitate, or transfigure, or change size. I can't even use _Lumos_ or shoot sparks out of my wand. I can't use magic."

"It sounds like you're giving up."

Aaron didn't know what to say. _No, but what choice do I have? No, but you're going to kick me out soon enough anyway?_

If only it were as simple as letting the boy give up. This was the wrong time to send a twelve year old muggle-born wizard back out into the world alone. No matter how limited his abilities were, the boy wasn't a muggle. Untrained and left to his own devices, he would be a danger to himself and others whenever he was able to use magic.

_If he isn't killed first, with an M carved into his forehead._

"Not every student who walks through these halls is immediately blessed with the gift of total control of their abilities. Many aren't capable of that even after they graduate. Magic is powerful, but it can be fickle. When you are young, it may come and go. It isn't unheard of to have a slow start."

Aaron said, "I think I'm just a muggle. I'm not supposed to be here."

"You're not a muggle, Aaron," Dumbledore said. "You're going to have to be patient and keep trying."

Dumbledore looked over Aaron's class list. “Now, what do we do with you in the meantime?”

The boy had done well enough in Herbology and History of Magic that he was duel-enrolled in the First and Second Year classes, at the expense of Transfiguration and Charms. He had never officially dropped his flying lessons, but Dumbledore heard from Madam Hooch that he had stopped showing up for classes last semester. She couldn't fail him either, because he _had_ tried. And, for a while, he had _kept_ trying. In Astronomy, another class that didn't require the practical use of magic, Aaron's marks were at the top of the class. Snape had told Dumbledore - with a lot of irritation in his voice - that any part of Potions that required magic wasn't a problem for Aaron, because his classmates stepped in and helped him with whatever came up. Defense against the Dark Arts, Dumbledore had heard, had been limited to theory this year.

Aaron wasn't stupid and he wasn't failing. He just couldn't use magic yet.

"Aaron, do you like it here?"

 _More than anything._ "Yes."

"The magic will come. Until it does, we will keep you moving forward and duel-enrolled in the classes you do not need it for."

There was an underlined note at the bottom of Aaron's class list.

_NEEDS HIS OWN PROPER WAND_

"Professor McGonagall tells me you don't have your own wand. Is that true?"

"I've been using one of the training wands."

"Having your own wand will not be the difference between your ability or inability to use magic. However, the situation does tie into another point I wanted to discuss with you. You don't come from a family that can provide for you, unlike the majority of your classmates. Legally, you belong to myself and the school. We will continue to provide you with books, food, and supplies to live and attend your classes, but it would be most helpful if you started to pay a portion of your own way."

Dumbledore was right. Besides the school supplies, Aaron needed things he didn't want to ask anyone for. He had grown into the robes the Weasleys had given him, but his shoes were worn out and too tight. He kicked them off whenever he could to avoid more blisters. All of his socks had holes and his shirts had tears along the stitching. He was sick of asking Charlie or Eni to repair his things. He needed money. 

"Aside from getting you what you need to succeed at school, it would not be wise to have you graduate from Hogwarts in six years with nothing to your name. So, I will make you a deal. If you work for the school over the summers, during holidays, and on the weekends, I will open an account for you. You will soon have enough money, not just for a wand of your own and anything else you would like to purchase, but enough to start a life for yourself, if that is what you want. You are young, but we could always use the help, and the magical community is not one for labor laws preventing us from employing you. It would be a lot of work - mostly maintaining the grounds and working in the kitchen - but you will not be assigned work during the week, so there shouldn't be any worry about keeping up with your classes. Would you like an arrangement like that?"

Aaron nodded.

"Very well. I will speak with the staff and you may start on Saturday, once the school year has ended," Dumbledore said. "You are dismissed."

Aaron stood up. He walked toward the door and looked back at Dumbledore. "Do you really think I'll be able to use magic one day? You don't think I can't because I'm muggle-born?"

"Your being muggle-born has nothing to do with your lack of magical ability. I've watched a lot of students struggle with magic, muggle-born and wizard-born. If you are patient, the magic will come."

Aaron left his office.

Dumbledore drained the rest of his mug, still trying to get the image of Tom Riddle out of his head.


	15. Cut Off

**August 1985**

Eni Iro stood in front of a stained mirror, leaning over a cracked pedestal sink with no hot water. She wiped her eyes and grabbed a handful of hair, raised the scissors she had taken from her father's front counter drawer, and cut the strands until the ends stuck out beneath her ears.

_Stop crying._

She took the last long pieces between her fingers and cut them off as her father pounded on the bathroom door.

"Get back out here! Not done with you!"

The sink was full of dark pieces of hair. Eni picked up clumps of it and stuffed it in the rubbish bin. She turned on the faucet and watched the rest wash down the drain; collected a handful of water, splashed it on her face, and used more to rinse her eyes. She didn't let go of the scissors.

Her father pulled on the door handle, but it didn't give. She heard him walk away and felt relief, then panicked, realizing she forgot to grab the set of utility keys when she had taken the scissors.

_Chikusho_

Her father came back. He unlocked the bathroom door and pulled it open. Eni stood against the far wall with pieces of cut hair stuck to her shirt and apron, and the scissors raised over her head. Her lip twitched, but she didn't cry.

Her father blocked the doorway. "What have you done?"

"Leave me alone."

He grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the bathroom. Eni clutched the scissors. Her father dragged her out of the back room and threw her on the floor in front of the last row of shelves.

"What have you done?!"

Eni stood and braced herself against a stack of boxes. No one was in the bakery and the lights at the front were off. The shop was supposed to be open for another hour, but her father had locked the front door. He didn't want anyone to walk into this. 

He charged his daughter, grabbed her arms, and pulled them behind her back. Eni winced. Her father tore the scissors out of her hands and slapped her face. 

_My wand._

_Where did I leave my wand?_

He shoved her back on the vinyl floor.

"Where did you get them?"

He meant the magazines she had nicked from the convenience store three blocks away.

"Did someone at your school give them to you? Another yariman? Is all they taught you to like women?"

He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her toward him. He took her arms, held her wrists, and raised the scissors with his free hand. "I think you did not finish."

Eni twisted in his grasp and tried to pull herself free, but he was twice her size. "No! Papa, no!"

"Damare!"

The hair Eni had carefully evened-out fell in front of her face as her father took random pieces between the blades.

_No no no no no_

He removed chunks of her short hair. He cut against her scalp until blood ran across her forehead, and threw her back on the floor.

"Not enough for you to be a possessed witch, now you are a sexual deviant? What has happened to you?!"

"I'm not a deviant."

Her father yanked her off the floor, pressed the blades of the scissors into her throat, and dragged her to the front door. He shoved her outside. Eni fell, scraped her hands on the sidewalk, and scrambled away from him.

"Do not come back! You are no longer my child."

"Papa-"

"Damare yariman!"

Eni ran.

Fueled by adrenaline - with no destination - Eni ran beneath street lamps - past store fronts and office buildings. Her lungs burned. What was she doing? Everything she owned was in the flat above the bakery.

Blood ran from the lesions her father had left on her scalp. She wiped it away with the back of her bleeding hand.

Eni ran almost two miles before she stopped. She leaned against a stone wall, panting. The people who walked by didn't pay her any attention. She was glad it was dark. None of them could see her butchered hair and head.

She shouldn’t have left her wand behind.

_Would they have understood if I used it? Would they have let me come back?_

Eni walked down the sidewalk while her mind cleared. She couldn't stay out all night and she couldn't go back home, not while her father was there. She had seen something in his eyes when he called her possessed; his own churning demons. Would he have kept hurting her? It didn't matter. She needed to go somewhere she would be safe.

Eni crossed the street to a payphone and pulled change out of her pocket. She dropped the coins in the slot and dialed the only number she had memorized.

It rang three times.

"Hello?"

"Hello. Is Maddison there?"

"This is her mother. Who's calling?"

"Eni Iro. I'm a friend from school."

Mrs. Thomas put the phone down and called for her daughter. Eni waited, starting to feel cold with the sweat from the run drying on her body.

"Eni?"

"Maddison. I need help."

"What happened?"

"My papa. I told you he hated my being a witch."

She couldn't tell her the rest.

"Are you alright?"

"No, I'm not," Eni said, trying to keep her voice steady - she couldn't. "He kicked me out. I know Liverpool isn't close to you, but I'm in trouble. I've got nowhere else to go."

Maddison covered the phone with her hand and talked to her mum. Their words were muffled.

Mrs. Thomas got back on the line. "Hello? Eni? This is Maddison's mum again. Where are you, dear? We are going to come get you."


	16. Everything is Relative

**September 1985**

Eni ran through the rain with Maddison, holding her coat over her head.

"It isn't much farther," Maddison said, "see the brick wall?"

Rain ran down Eni's arms, despite the coat, and her shoes were soaked through.

"The one covered in barbed-wire?"

"That's the one. The station entrance is in the building behind the wall."

"How do we get inside?"

"There's a lock on the door next to the main gate. It keeps out muggles, but it will open for us. Once we're past the wall and inside the building, there's an old lift we can take down to the tunnels."

"I thought Manchester didn't have an underground," Eni said.

"Not officially."

They stopped at the door. A car drove past, and Eni felt nervous. Maddison pulled on the handle and they hurried inside.

The yard around them looked abandoned. The brick building wasn't any different. There weren't any windows at the first floor and the high windows were dark. The only entrance appeared to be a roll-up door at the front.

Maddison walked past it, went to the side of the building, and started counting bricks. She counted off ten from the edge of the wall and ran her fingers along the masonry. One of the bricks turned silver as she touched it. Maddison tapped it three times, and the wall transformed, creating an opening for them to pass through. Maddison stepped inside, and Eni followed her.

Eni shook rainwater off her coat and followed Maddison down a concrete stairwell. Utility lights flickered above their heads. A sign read _P_ _LEASE KEEP GUARDIAN TIDY. PUT RUBBISH INCLUDING CIGARETTE ENDS IN THE RECEPTACLES._

Maddison turned around at the bottom of the staircase and looked back at Eni. "Sort of fun, right? Like we're some type of urban explorers?"

"As long as you know where we're going."

She followed Maddison.

Maddison led her to a lift. She opened the cage doors and waved Eni inside. A red sign warned, _DO NOT PUT ARMS THROUGH GATES._

Maddison pressed a button and they descended. 

When the lift stopped at the bottom of the shaft, Maddison pulled the cage doors open. "Stay close. I know where we're going, but the tunnels are a bit confusing. If you wander off, it may take me awhile to find you, and we've got to be on the platform right at noon."

They walked through rooms filled with equipment; past cabinets, panel boxes, and bundled black cables.

"What is this place?"

"A telecommunications bunker that was built during the Cold War, when everyone was worried about nuclear bombs taking out communications. Now, it's abandoned. I've lived in Manchester all my life and never realized it was here until McGonagall brought me."

They walked down a circular tunnel until they came to a maintenance door. Or, at least, that was what it looked like. Maddison pulled on the handle and they stepped through.

Eni felt fresh air and heard voices. The corridor opened up into a train station. Groups of Hogwarts students Eni didn't know by name crowded the platform.

In contrast to the rest of the bunker, the station was clean and well-maintained. The walls were covered with red and white tiles, and daylight - amplified by magic - filtered in through a row of stained-glass skylights sixty feet above their heads.

Maddison caught Eni staring up and elbowed her. "When the train arrives, we won't have much time. You'll see why I packed so light and why my mum got you the backpack. We'll have to jump aboard."

"The train doesn't stop?"

"No, but we'll be alright. More magic. There's a sort of time warp that happens at the station when the Hogwarts Express arrives. The train slows down while station time runs as usual, and that's when we can get onboard with the others. We'll just have to be quick about it. And careful. As soon as our feet are on the train, we'll be back on its relative time, and it moves fast, so grab onto something and hold on tight."

A whistle sounded and headlamps appeared inside the dark tunnel to their right.

"That's the signal," Maddison said. "Here we go."

The train came out of the tunnel - and the whistle stretched. Time warped, and the Hogwarts Express slowed to a crawl.

Eni saw the train conductor as the engine passed. His eyes were closed mid-blink.

Maddison walked up to the train, and jumped on. Eni did the same and grabbed onto a handlebar. The end of the whistle sounded loud in her ear as reality resumed its normal pace. The train _did_ move fast, but she held on.

_clank clank_

_clank clank_

_clank clank_

"I don't know what they have to do in London," Maddison yelled over the noise, "but I like the way we board the Hogwarts Express in Manchester."


	17. Motionless

**September 1985**

Dumbledore stepped from his office onto a gravel-covered rooftop in Edinburgh in the pace of one stride, appearing twenty-eight stories above the city with a loud _CRACK_. The wind cut into his beard, and he hadn't expected the rain. 

He wasn't alone. Alastor Moody waited for him, standing on an abandoned equipment curb with his hands shoved into his coat pockets, surrounded by a shield charm that blocked the unfortunate weather. Dumbledore stepped inside.

Moody passed Dumbledore an envelope. He opened it and removed a stack of documents. No matter how many times he saw them, Dumbledore never got used to the motionless photographs muggles took. 

Three more muggle-borns had been killed. He recognized oneas Samantha Jones, a student who had graduated from Hogwarts six years ago. She had returned to the muggle world to attend college, discouraged by the state of the wizarding world during the war and wanting more from life than what magic had to offer her.

_Why was she targeted? She LEFT._

In the photograph he held, Samantha's mutilated body laid on a tile floor in a heap. Her green eyes were open and her swollen tongue protruded from her mouth. The associated report didn't say anything about finding her body floating in the air. The levitation charm must have worn off before the police arrived, or the muggles hadn’t known what to make of it.

"Tell me the Aurors have something."

"They have fuck all on the killings inside the dungeon, and they aren't doing a damn thing about the dead muggle-borns in that envelope. Those killings took place outside of our world, and Adelaide doesn't want the Aurors involved."

"But the connection is obvious. The markings on the foreheads and the way the heads have been detached and left atop the bodies is the same as it was in the dungeon," Dumbledore said.

"And the same as it was in Oxford. The Ministry doesn't give a fuck, Albus. The Aurors can't solve the murders right in front of them, let alone the ones across the rest of the United Kingdom."

Dumbledore thumbed through the autopsy reports, but they didn't tell him anything he didn't already know from the pictures. The foreheads had been mutilated while the victims were alive and the heads had been removed as a final step. The muggle authority-authored autopsies left out the magical elements - and were vague in regard to how the heads were aligned, and almost re-attached, to the associated bodies. 

Dumbledore shoved the documents back into the envelope and handed it to Moody. He kept the photographs.

"With the four that were found at The Ministry, and the two from July, the body count is at nine," Moody said. "They are being systematically hunted and slaughtered. I've decided to take a more active role. I'm going to liberate myself from retirement before we end up with a pile of muggle-born bodies and no ideas as to who has been holding the knives."

"They used knives to do this? Not magic?"

"The heads of the bodies from the dungeon were removed with a sharp, blunt instrument. There was nothing magical about it."

Moody watched the rain form puddles on the gravel surrounding them. "If you want muggle-borns to have more protection, maybe getting them all registered isn't the worst idea."

Dumbledore had to stop himself from grabbing the old Auror. "Never say anything like that again."

"What else do you suggest, Albus? It isn’t like you’ve offered up any alternatives. I've heard you haven't even been attending any of the Wizengamot meetings outside of the bloody hearings."

"I've been preparing for the school year."

"Bollocks. You haven't been doing that either. There's word you weren't at the sorting ceremony last week."

"That isn't anyone's concern but my own."

"You're wrong," Moody said. "Whenever you contact me, what you do is exactly my concern."

Dumbledore shoved past Moody and left the shield. Moody let it dissolve. The rain fell on both of them.

"The war depleted the Aurors, Albus. There is a starved group left, most of whom are too old for this shite. The rest are young, inexperienced, and dependent. Every great Auror we had - every damn one of them - died in the war, or ended up like Frank and Alice Longbottom."

"You are one of the great ones."

"I'm one of the too fucking old ones. I can't keep doing this forever. If you want more Aurors around to solve these killings and protect muggle-borns, then do your job and teach the students. I don't have to tell you where the fuck Aurors come from.”

Dumbledore was quiet for a moment.

"You'll tell me when there are more killings?" It wasn't a question of if anymore.

"I'll keep you informed as best I can," Moody said. "Be seeing you, Albus."

Moody disapparated and left Dumbledore standing alone in the rain.


	18. Can't Control My Fingers

**September 1985**

The world had layers. In the dark - at the edges of sleep - Aaron watched the outlines of an empty classroom merge with a dark pond. His body contracted in a hypnagogic jerk and he sat up in bed, sick. Saliva coated his mouth as the illusions surrounding him dissolved. 

Aaron got out of bed and headed for the bathroom. He got as far as the stairwell before he threw up.

Aaron retched on the stone steps and leaned against the wall, drooling. The stairwell doubled in his vision. He closed his eyes.

_Why does this keep happening? What is wrong with me?_

He needed water.

Aaron held onto the wall and walked down the stairwell. He went to the bathroom, took a glass out of the cupboard, and dry-heaved over the sink. He'd felt too nauseous to eat dinner, or there would have been more actual vomit. He filled the glass, drank slowly, and grabbed a towel.

Aaron's hands shook. He turned the water back on and washed his face; took the towel and walked back to the stairwell. He bent down and cleaned his vomit off the steps, tossed the towel in a rubbish bin, and leaned against the wall.

It took thirty minutes for the room to stop spinning, but it did stop.

Aaron looked at the clock above the fireplace. It was five fifteen in the morning. He wouldn't be able to go back to sleep, not if it was like last time. Besides, now that his stomach was empty and the nausea had passed, he was starving. The kitchen staff would have breakfast started. If he helped, Lara - the head kitchen porter - would feed him. 

He stepped through the portrait of the fat lady and left the common room.

Aaron had spent the last few months working in the kitchen early in the mornings, so Filch didn't stop him when he walked past. Aaron took the staircase adjacent to The Great Hall. He smelled baking bread and grilled meat as he walked into the main preparation room.

He grabbed his apron from a peg on the wall. 

Lara walked over to him. "You're not supposed to work today. You've got classes."

Aaron shrugged. "I couldn't sleep. And I’m hungry."

"I suppose I could use the help. If you cut up the apples and melons, I'll get you some ham and eggs."

"Thanks."

"And I want you gone before we start the service, so you have time to go get your books and robe."

Aaron followed her to a table where the fruit was stacked in baskets. She took out cutting boards, large metal bowls, and a knife. Aaron washed his hands.

"Your hair, too."

Aaron tied back the longer strands and Lara left him to work.

Eni walked in before he got halfway through the apples. "Aaron? What are you doing down here?"

"I work here. What are you doing down here?"

”I bake when I can’t sleep,” she said.

Eni's hair was shorter than his and she wore a blue apron that said _Iro Pan_. She pulled on an oven mitt, reached into the brick oven, and took out a pan filled with fluffy rolls. Eni set them on a cooling rack and walked into the pantry. She came back with a jar of honey and drizzled it over the tops.

“Do you like milk bread?”

Aaron shrugged. "Never even heard of it.”

Eni tore off a piece and handed it to Aaron. He ate the roll and licked honey off his fingers. It was good.

Eni handed him another one. 

She walked to the coat rack, opened her book bag, and took out the Walkman Maddison’s mother had gotten her.

"I forgot to tell you," she said. "I figured out how to get one of these to run on magic."

Eni pressed play and turned up the volume. Noise came from the headphones. She reached up and put them over Aaron's ears.

_"Twenty, twenty, twenty-four hours to go, I wanna be sedated. Nothing to do, nowhere to go, oh, I wanna be sedated . . . "_

Aaron laughed. He couldn't help it. He hadn't heard muggle music since he left Glasgow.

"How did you get it to work?"

"Had to modify the whole thing. It's working off an animation charm now instead of batteries. I stripped the wiring and added gears."

"That’s brilliant."

_"Twenty, twenty, twenty-four hours to go, I wanna be sedated. Nothing to do, nowhere to go, oh, I wanna be sedated . . . "_

"I could modify yours, too, if you want."

"Please, yes. I’d lick a house elf if it meant getting my music back.”

”Eww, no. Stay away from the house elves and just give me your Walkman.”

"It’s in my trunk upstairs. Can I give it to you in Potions? I've got a bunch of cassette tapes you can borrow, too.”

"There's no rush. I’ll have to use Maddison’s wand to do it anyway.”

Aaron reached into his apron and took out the training wand. He had used it to stir a soup he made for himself a few weeks ago and hadn't touched it since.

He ran it under the faucet, wiped it clean, and handed it to Eni. “Here, use this one. Keep it, even.”

"Are you sure?"

"I mean, it's not like I'm going to need it."


	19. Eyes of the Dead

**December 1985**

A loud voice came from the end of the corridor in front of Dumbledore. He pushed open the dungeon doors and walked into the Wizengamot. Marcus Carrow stood at the podium.

"Don't stop on my account, Mister Carrow," Dumbledore said.

"You haven't been in attendance since June, Albus," Millicent said, as he crossed the room, "and now you walk in twenty minutes late?"

"I doubt I've missed anything myself and everyone else in this room haven't already heard," Dumbledore said. He looked at the wizards and witches surrounding him. "Am I wrong? Aren't you all tired of the way this has gone on? We have met like this for over a year to talk about legislation that should have been voted on months after its conception."

"If you want to take the podium," Millicent said, "you'll have to wait until Marcus has finished."

"I don't need a podium," Dumbledore said.

He reached into his robe and took out the photographs Alastor Moody had given him. He threw them on the floor at Millicent's feet. Before she could reach down and take them, Dumbledore raised his index finger and lifted the images into the air. A quick turn of his wrist and the photographs collected in a circle, facing the members of the Wizengamot.

Dumbledore shouted, "How many more deaths will it take for us to vote down this destructive act?"

Barty Crouch Senior covered his mouth with his hand as the image of a slaughtered nineteen year old boy floated in front of him. He looked at Dumbledore. "How many have been killed since the four we found in this room?"

_They don't know. The Ministry hasn't told them anything._

"Ten," Dumbledore said, "all muggle-born and all killed in the same manner. Don't look away. Make sure you all see what these - and let's call them what they are - terrorists have done; the way they carved up the foreheads of their victims, cut off their heads, and strung them up like marionettes."

The silent photographs drifted around room. Millicent took one out of the air.

"This Wizengamot has failed," Dumbledore said. "While we sat in here and argued, muggle-born children, witches, and wizards died."

Millicent shook her head. "We have to follow protocol and ensure-"

"Did you hear me, Madam Minister? I said our people are dying."

"We can't vote on this yet," Adelaide Burke said. "We haven't even heard from the other side."

"Well," Dumbledore said, "then aren't you glad I've prepared remarks?"

Dumbledore moved the photographs overhead, where the eyes of the dead could look down on them. He didn't want anyone to forget why they were here.

"Anonymity is powerful," Dumbledore said. "We all benefit from it, as we sit in our dungeon, protected from the outside world. We have avoided every aspect of the muggle world for centuries. We haven't interfered in their wars and we haven't come to their aid when natural disasters have threatened them. We have remained hidden on the fringes of their lives and kept to ourselves. We have gone through great lengths to hide magic from the rest of the world. And yet, here we are, entertaining an act that would remove the protection of anonymity from members of our own community; an act whose very conception has caused muggle-born witches and wizards to be slaughtered."

"We don't know what the motive of the killers is at this time," Adelaide reminded him.

"No. How could you? No one in this room has done a damn thing to stop the killings or find the murderers. Maybe you want to help these terrorists and give them a list of victims? Because that is what the Registration Commission Act will do."

"The registry would never be available to the public," Millicent said.

"That doesn't mean anything," Dumbledore said, "except that it will be leaked. Minister, you can't tell me that no one who works at The Ministry harbors ill will against muggle-borns."

"The commission would work directly with The Department of Magical Law Enforcement and we would-"

"The Department of Magical Law Enforcement hasn't been able to do a damn thing to stop these murders," Dumbledore said. "You haven't cared enough to make it a priority."

"Albus, leave this chamber," Millicent said.

"I'm not finished," Dumbledore said. "Keeping a record of people and monitoring their movements is barbaric. We watched, from a distance, while millions of Jews were registered, monitored, and taken to death camps during the Second World War."

"It won't be that way," Millicent said. "We aren't them."

"We are," Dumbledore said, "and your refusal to see that is what makes this act so dangerous."

"It would be for their safety," Adelaide said.

"If you put them on a list," Dumbledore said, "they will be slaughtered en masse."

"We can't protect them if we don't know who they are," Adelaide said.

Dumbledore walked over to the director. "Do you really think your depleted Aurors can provide enough protection?"

"I'll recruit more," Adelaide said.

"You can't train the Aurors you have, Burke. You are detached, unsympathetic, and not qualified to hold your position. Go back to your old desk on the first floor, where Bagnold can keep a better eye on you."

"Albus," Millicent said, “leave this chamber before I escort you out myself.”


	20. Gifts

**December 1985**

Aaron sat at his usual preparation station in the kitchen with a bowl of squash soup and a mug of hot cider. _A History of Magic_ was open on the table in front of him. Lara sat on the pantry floor with sheets of parchment and a quill, surrounded by baskets and crates of food, taking inventory and preparing order lists for the remainder of the school year. The pantry door was small, but the spells used during the room's construction made it stretch far beyond the adjacent walls. The shelves inside towered six stories into the air. There were wooden ladders, platforms, and pulleys, but Lara didn't need them. She used her wand to take down inventory she couldn't reach, whispering _Wingardium_ _Leviosa_ and _Accio_ to herself as she worked.

The cider was still too hot to drink. Aaron pushed it to the side and highlighted a passage in his textbook.

_"Escalation of attempts by muggles to force wizards and witches to perform acts of magic for muggle ends; muggle-led torture and killing of wizards and witches, including burning hundreds of witches at the stake; and, widespread persecution of wizarding children by muggles, drove members of the magical community to call for total seclusion from the non-magical world and the majority of the population. Upon the signature of the International Stature of Secrecy in 1689, wizards [and witches] went into hiding for good."_

A gray owl flew down the stairwell and into the pantry. Lara took _The Daily Prophet_ off its leg and gave it a carrot. The owl flew past Aaron and back out of the kitchen.

Lara stood up. Her right leg had fallen asleep. She read while she walked on needles, waiting for the feeling to return; left the pantry and tossed the paper on the table next to Aaron.

"The damn act is back on the front page."

Aaron picked up the paper. 

**_Interruptions_ _and Threats Mar Third Muggle-Born Registration Commission Act Hearing_ **

_Chief Warlock and Grand Sorcerer Albus Dumbledore arrived late to the third hearing for the Muggle-Born Registration Commission Act, interrupting fellow Wizengamot member Marcus Carrow. Dumbledore spoke at length about a supposed series of muggle-born killings, which have not been confirmed by The Daily Prophet at this time, and blamed the Wizengamot for failing to act._

"They’ve failed, alright," Lara said.

 _After threatening the director of The Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Dumbledore was asked to leave the chamber._ _At this time, it is unclear when the Wizengamot will vote on the proposed legislation, but the Minister for Magic stated that she would not be persuaded to rush a decision on a matter as explosive as the Muggle-Born Registration Commission Act, especially not when members of her own Wizengamot are unable to behave accordingly._

_Polls conducted by The Daily Prophet, included on page six of this printing, indicate that support for the act remains high, with over half of the Wizengamot saying they would support its enactment._

Lara used a charm to cool down Aaron's steaming mug of cider and handed it back to him. "Don't worry. _The Prophet_ doesn’t know shit. Our names aren't going on any list."

She walked back into the pantry.

Aaron crumbled _The Daily Prophet_ and threw it against the wall by the stairwell. It bounced off and rolled beneath a cabinet filled with baking sheets.

_It doesn't matter what I do, or can't do. I'll always be a second-class citizen in this stupid world. I wish I was back in Glasgow. Mr. Weasley should have left me there when I told him I couldn't use magic. Now, they want to register and monitor what I do and where I am? Because I don't come from magic? I hate it here. I hate this stupid world. I HATE magic. I never should have -_

A stack of crates balanced high on one of the pantry shelves collapsed, and fell.

Lara pulled out her wand and yelled, " _Wingardium Leviosa!_ "

There was a loud crash as some of the crates hit the floor and broke apart. Their contents shattered on the stone.

Aaron ran to help. Lara had caught most of the crates in the air with the levitation charm - and avoided being crushed - but the rest had held heavy jars of tomato sauce and the floor around her was covered in red paste, splintered wood, and shards of broken glass.

"Shit," Lara said, looking at the mess.

"Are you alright?"

"I’m fine. I heard them fall in time to do something. I piled those crates too high."

Aaron's hands shook. He looked at the shattered jars on the floor and tasted bile in the back of his throat. "I'll get a mop."

"No, I can clean this up with a few charms. Don't worry about it."

_MUGGLE MUGGLE MUGGLE MUGGLE MUGGLE MUGGLE_

_Lot of good I can do._

Aaron heard movement and turned to see two barn owls fly into the kitchen. They landed on the table next to his open textbook. Aaron walked up to them, untied the packages on their legs, and took a letter from the one on the left. The owl tilted its head and pecked at him.

"Right," Aaron said, "that was a lot of work."

He went to the bread box and took out two of the muffins Eni made before she left for the holidays. He gave the offerings to the owls, who devoured them and left the room.

Aaron opened the letter.

_Happy Christmas, Aaron!_

_We hope you are doing well. Molly and I were disappointed when Dumbledore didn't let you join us for the holidays again this year, but I suppose it is nice to have an income. We didn't know if you were allowed to spend much of it, or what all of it goes toward school and living expenses, but Charlie said you had about grown out of the robes from last year, so Bill found more and some of his other old clothes this morning. If you don't need them, just give them back to Charlie, but we thought maybe it would give you something to open today. I hope all is well and you are enjoying yourself._

_Write back when you get a chance. I would love to hear about Hogwarts from your perspective._

_Yours, Arthur Weasley and Family_

_P.S. Molly made the cookies. They are quite good._

Aaron smiled and tore open the first package. A paper bag filled with cinnamon chocolate chip cookies was stacked on top of two clean robes. The second package contained a few shirts, jeans, and shoes. Aaron pulled off his worn-out trainers and tried on Bill's. He walked around the kitchen. They were a little big, but they didn't hurt his feet.

Aaron ate one of the cookies and took out another one for Lara. They were still warm. 

He threw his old trainers, and the crumbled _Prophet_ , into the rubbish bin.


	21. The Girl on the Train

**June 1986**

Eni leaned against the window, trying to use the motion of the Hogwarts Express to rock herself to sleep. Peter and Maddison leaned against each other on the seat across from her. They'd been sleeping that way since they left Hogsmeade over an hour ago. All of them had been in the Hufflepuff common room until three in the morning; drinking pumpkin juice, eating a cake Eni had made to celebrate the end of the school year, and passing around a bottle of fire whiskey Aaron had smuggled out of the kitchen.

None of them had ever drank alcohol before. After they all had a taste, and spit some of it out, Maddison said, "How about we play a game of dare?"

Peter passed her the bottle. "I dare you to stand on your head."

Maddison smiled and drank from the bottle. She took out her wand, flipped herself upside-down, and used the levitation charm to float above Peter.

"That's cheating," Peter said. "Magic makes it too easy."

Maddison floated back to the ground. "I disagree."

She picked up the bottle and handed it to Aaron. "I dare you to do some magic."

Aaron grabbed the bottle. He took a long drink and looked at Maddison. "Go fuck yourself."

Charlie choked on his pumpkin juice. "What did you tell her to go do?"

"Fuck myself," Maddison said, laughing.

"Fuck . . . yourself? Is that a muggle swear?"

"Teach us more!" Tonks said. "You know all of ours."

Aaron passed the bottle back to Peter. "I dare you to teach these sheltered wizard-borns a muggle swear."

Peter upended the bottle. "Jesus fucking Christ, Aaron, you bloody bastard. I can’t use any goddamn muggle swears for shit."

Eni erupted in laughter and grabbed her stomach. Tonks and Charlie - who had never heard half of the words that came out of Peter's mouth - rolled on the floor until Tonks hiccupped.

They had gone on like that for hours, until Nancy Irvine, one of the Hufflepuff prefects, had enough and sent them back to their own dormitories.

Maddison stirred and opened her eyes.

 _Did you sleep?_ she mouthed to Eni, trying not to wake up Peter.

Eni shook her head.

The compartment door opened and Tonks came in with a sandwich. Peter shifted in his sleep and leaned against the window.

Maddison asked, "Does she have any meat pies?"

Tonks nodded with her mouth full. "Lots of 'em. Roast beef, liver, chicken . . . whatever you want. She's right in the car ahead of ours."

Maddison eased her body away from Peter and stood up. "Right. Anyone else hungry?"

She looked at Eni and Charlie. "I can buy."

"No, I'm fine," Charlie said. "I'm sure Bill's going to bring me something later."

Maddison took out a handful of Sickles and set them on the seat between Charlie and Eni. "Come on. I'm starving. Just come with me."

"I don't need your money."

"Well, take it anyway. My mum keeps sending me wizard currency. She set up a whole account for me. She thinks we use it every day or something. Let me share some of it with you, alright?"

Charlie's stomach hurt from the lack of food and too much fire whiskey. He grabbed the coins. "Fine, but I want mincemeat."

He stood up and followed Eni and Maddison out of the compartment. 

Tonks sat down to finish her sandwich. Peter slept.

It started to rain. Eni watched the drops hit the windows and slide down the panes. She felt cold.

_When did it get so dark outside?_

They walked to the end of the car and stepped out on the platform to cross to the next one, moving fast to avoid getting wet. 

_It looks . . . black. Black rain?_

Eni closed the door behind them.

The aisle was empty.

"Where's the trolley witch? Didn't Tonks say she was this way?"

The lamps flickered. The wind howled and the train swayed.

Charlie forgot about his hunger and sour stomach as the rain picked up and pelted the windows.

The windows shattered. Glass flew at Eni, Maddison, and Charlie. The black rain tore through the inside of the train car, and the lamps went out.

They screamed, covered their heads, and jumped back against the partition wall. Their bodies were covered with -

\- Eni touched the thick substance coating her arms. "It's not rain! It's _mud_."

"Where the hell did it come from?"

The Hogwarts Express lost speed. Flashes of light _BANG_ from cast spells cut through the darkness outside.

None of them had their wands. Charlie and Maddison had tossed theirs in their bags, and Eni had given the training wand back to Aaron before she left Hogwarts. Just in case.

Mud pelted their bodies and filled the train car up to their knees. More dripped off the ceiling. 

The Hogwarts Express slowed. And stopped. They heard the distant sounds of glass shattering and metal giving way.

Maddison gasped, choked, and grabbed Eni's arm. There was too much mud. It poured over their heads and forced them to the floor. 

Eni kept her mouth shut, trying to keep the mud from going down her throat. She choked, lurched, and realized she was suffocating.

_the_

_shield_

_spell_

She tried to cough out the mud lodged in her mouth and throat.

_protego_

_it's PROTEGO_

She couldn't open her mouth to say it.

_PROTEGO PROTEGO PROTEGO_

Eni's hands shook -

\- with a force she recognized. A current built inside of her body. 

She turned away from the wall and stretched out her hands, reaching through the waterfall of mud. 

_PROTEGO_

A shield tore out of Eni's palms and wrapped around her body. She pushed harder, and covered Maddison and Charlie. The mud pelted the shield - but now they could breathe. The three of them gasped. Eni spit out a mouthful of mud. Maddison choked and wiped more of it off her face. Charlie did the same. Eni was afraid to lower her palms. The mud caked on her forehead slid down into her eyes.

The onslaught continued around them.

"We have to get out of this train car!"

"There's nowhere to go, Charlie!"

"We have to get back to the compartment! Tonks might be trapped like we were."

Eni shoved with the shield, but nothing gave. There was too much mud.

_Chikusho_

She needed more energy. She made herself summon it; pulling it out of the air around her. Adrenaline surged inside of her body.

"Hold on!"

Maddison was about to ask, "To what?", when a concussive wave shot out of Eni's palms. The train car rocked from the force of it and the mud flew back. 

"Shit fucking yes!" Charlie yelled.

Eni's hands shook. She ran forward, holding the shield around them and deflecting the incoming mud. They ran to the adjacent train car and the compartment where they had left Peter and Tonks, trudging through the mud that covered the aisle. 

Maddison pulled on the door. "Tonks! Let us in!"

Charlie pulled with her. "Tonks! Come on!"

Eni tried to send out another wave, but nothing happened. She was exhausted. She sank to the floor, keeping her hands raised and holding her shield in-place. 

Charlie broke the glass pane on the door with his fist and reached for the handle inside, digging through the mud. Blood ran down his hand, wrist, and arm. He grabbed the handle, released it, and pulled his hand free while Maddison yanked the door open. Mud poured out of the compartment. Charlie saw a hand and an arm.

Eni pushed with the shield, sweating and shaking.

Maddison and Charlie pulled Tonks out. Charlie wiped mud off her face and mouth. Tonks gasped and coughed up mud and blood from her scoured throat.

Eni bit through her bottom lip. Tears of exertion ran down her face and mixed with the mud.

As fast as it had come on - as Eni lost the shield and collapsed - the assault of mud stopped. Maddison caught Eni in her arms. Mud from the ceiling and walls fell on them. Charlie held Tonks.

Tonks spit out more mud and gasped, "Charlie! Peter is still in there."

The compartment was filled with a hill of mud higher than their heads. Nothing moved.

_No_

Charlie dug through the mud. He didn't see anything. He didn't see any more body parts. He kept digging. 

Tonks and Maddison reached into the mud with him, trying to find Peter.

Charlie felt skin and pulled. Tonks and Maddison pulled with him, but they couldn't get Peter out.

_COME ON PETER_

Charlie kept digging. 

_no no no no no no_

Charlie didn't stop digging when they pulled out Peter's legs, or his swollen purple face. He didn't stop when he saw Peter's bulging eyes, when Maddison screamed and cried, or when Bill was suddenly there, pulling him away from the dead boy's body.


	22. Mud & Blood

**June 1986**

The Hogwarts Express sat abandoned in the silence of a dark meadow. The train was discolored; black and grey; covered in thick layers of mud from the assault. Mud covered four miles of the tracks that led back to Hogsmeade; mud hung from the undersides of the cars and coated the wheels, axles, and bearings. The roof of one of the cars had collapsed during the attack - from the weight of the mud - and killed two students. One had been crushed. The other had suffocated.

Light came from the ends of Dumbledore and Moody's raised wands. The conductor and Hagrid walked behind them with lanterns.

Abandoned luggage - covered in mud - spilled out of the train. Hagrid bent down and picked up a crushed container of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. He wiped mud off the label and swore. When he arrived to help recover the bodies of the five students who had died onboard, he cried. One of the dead students had been a First Year - a small girl named Raye. He had carried her on his shoulder once when she was lost on the grounds after a flying lesson. Four hours ago, he had carried her lifeless body into Hogsmeade.

The conductor stopped and pointed beneath a train car. "See this here? The way the wheels and axles are warped? It almost overturned."

Moody was more interested in the dried blood that covered the car, illuminated by his glowing wand. He walked to the front side and stepped over the coupling.

The trolley witch was still missing. Juliet - a young Auror working on the muggle-born killings - had already examined the conductor's memories to try to determine what had happened during the attack. He had last seen the trolley witch standing on top one of the cars, casting shields and screaming _Confringo_ at the sky.

"At some point," Juliet had told Moody, "she must have been knocked off."

_And dragged beneath the train._

Moody reached down and pulled an arm - and part of a shoulder - out from beneath the car. There wasn't any sign of the head, or the rest of the body. He used the levitation charm to raise the detached body parts over the coupling and dropped them at the conductor's feet.

"Is this the trolley witch?"

The train conductor leaned over and retched on the ground. Once he emptied his stomach, he dry heaved a few times and managed, "That's her. All the bracelets."

The conductor hadn't seen what - or who - the trolley witch had been screaming at. He'd been too focused on keeping the train intact and upright, casting his own shields and tearing through the onslaught.

Moody walked alongside the train. He had expected to find more during his investigation, but whoever attacked the Hogwarts Express hadn't left anything behind apart from cars filled with mud and death.

Hagrid started to collect the abandoned luggage. He would take it home, clean it, and give it back to the students. They should have their things. When he found the trunks and suitcases that belonged to the dead, he would use extra care to remove the mud and return it to the families.

Dumbledore reached down and collected a handful of dried mud. He crushed it in his palm until it spilled out through his fingers.

_No one is safe. And I cannot protect my own students._

Moody stood next to him. "It doesn't fit the pattern of the muggle-born killings. What happened here is something else entirely."

"Is that all you got from this? You're no better than the rest of The Ministry."

"It's going to take some time to determine-"

"You sound like Burke. You've been worthless since the end of the damn war."

Moody pointed his wand at Dumbledore. "Don't make me your enemy, Albus."

_He doesn't care about what happened here. He's on their side now; protecting his damn Ministry._

Dumbledore stuck out his hand and hit Moody with a sudden blast of energy. Moody fell back, and landed hard. 

He shoved himself off the ground and faced Dumbledore. "This is what they want. They want us to be divided."

Dumbledore turned his wand on Moody. _We are already divided._

"Albus, lower your damn wand so we can figure out who attacked the students."

_The students. The children I am unable to protect._

_I could not protect them during the war and I cannot protect them now._

"Albus?"

_Five bodies. Five families left without children._

_And I could not stop it._

_Like I could not stop Tom._

Dumbledore raised his hands -

\- and faced the train.

He engulfed the nearest car in flames.

Hagrid and the conductor left the luggage on the ground and ran towards Dumbledore and Moody, away from the burning train, screaming and waving their arms.

"Albus, stop! You're destroying the-"

_Five bodies were laid on the ground. Four bodies dangled in the air._

_I am not stopping._

"I apologize. Did you not collect enough evidence, Alastor? Did you not see enough to satisfy your curiosity and report my failures back to The Ministry?"

Flames poured between Dumbledore and the battered Hogwarts Express. The cars heaved and twisted from the heat. Metal gave way.

The fire spread through the cars. 

Moody aimed his wand at Dumbledore as the engine exploded. The blast knocked him unconscious.

When he came to, Hagrid supported his head and Dumbledore was gone.


	23. Disinhibition

**June 1986**

_Break Carrow and break the truth of the muggle-born killings wide open._

_Break Carrow and end all of this._

Dumbledore stood over Marcus Carrow's unconscious body. Blood covered the back of Carrow's head. When Dumbledore had found Carrow inside his house in London - sleeping alone in a bed two doors away from his son and daughter - he took Carrow by the neck, slammed his head into a wall, and apparated him to a sealed-off Underground tunnel that had been used as an air raid shelter during the Second World War.

" _Rennervate_ ," Dumbledore said.

Carrow opened his eyes, gasped, and struggled against the iron chains Dumbledore had used to restrain him.

"Dumbledore," Carrow spat, "you half-blood maniac."

"I see you slept well," Dumbledore said, "after you picked Rhodus up from Hogwarts. It is strange. He usually takes the train home, doesn't he?"

Dumbledore yanked on the chain draped around Carrow's neck. Carrow choked. Dumbledore pulled tighter. Carrow's lips went purple and his feet hammered against the concrete platform, trying to propel himself away from Dumbledore and the lack of oxygen. He wasn't going anywhere. 

Dumbledore waited, saw the panic in the man’s face, and watched him fight for air. He pulled on the chain until Carrow passed out, and stood over him again.

" _Rennervate_."

Carrow gasped and coughed.

"I wanted you to know what suffocation feels like. Because that is how three of the students on the train died. They couldn't breathe. They gasped and struggled, much like you did now, and all they managed to do was pull more mud down their throats."

"What in the name of Merlin are you on about?"

Dumbledore pulled on the chain. "The train, Carrow; your attack on the train."

"You mental maniac. I didn't touch those kids."

Dumbledore had poured Veritaserum down Carrow's throat before he chained him to the concrete column.

_Does he know how to fight it?_

"This is because I wrote the act, isn't it? You think I hate them, so I must be out there killing children on their way home from school."

Dumbledore leaned over Carrow. "If it wasn't you, then who did you get to do it? Who attacked the train?"

"I don't know. I wasn't involved."

"You were sloppy. Two wizard-born children were killed along with the muggle-borns. You didn't want that, did you?"

"I didn't attack the train!"

Dumbledore tightened the chain.

"I didn't kill those kids!"

_Break Carrow and end all of this._

_Crucio_

Carrow screamed. His body twisted against the chains at an unnatural angle and his head thrashed against the column.

Dumbledore kept his fist clenched.

Carrow bit through his tongue. Blood ran from the corners of his mouth.

Dumbledore released the curse and Carrow fell forward, panting and bleeding. His body shook.

"Who attacked the train? Who did you send?"

"No one! Let me go!"

"Who did you send?"

"Let me go!"

_How is he fighting the Veritaserum? Did he get an Auror to teach him how to do it?_

"Aren't you glad you picked Rhodus up from school instead of sending him on the train to watch his classmates die? You protected him, and now you're protecting whoever you sent after the train."

"I didn't send anyone!"

_He knows. Make him talk._

_Four bodies floating in the air._

_Samantha Jones dead inside of her own flat._

_Five young bodies on the ground next to the train._

"Albus, if you let me go, we can solve the muggle-born murders and the train attack together. I will make The Ministry put more Aurors on the cases. You know I have enough influence to-"

Dumbledore pulled. The chain dug deeper into Carrow's neck. "Tell me who you sent, Marcus."

Carrow gasped. He couldn't catch his breath.

The chain tightened.

Carrow's lips turned purple. Dumbledore slowed the movement of the chain.

_I will choke him and bring him back as many times as it takes. If he won't tell me, I will take the memories out of his head by force._

_All of his hate and his damn Muggle-Born Registration Commission Act._

_Let him panic. Let him struggle. Let him choke._

Carrow's legs pounded on the concrete.

The chain tightened.

_Let him know what it feels like to be afraid. Let him know what it feels like to be at someone's mercy._

Carrow's eyes protruded from his face. His bleeding tongue rolled to the back of his mouth and lodged in his throat.

_Let him die._

Dumbledore laced the chain with shards of tearing magic, and pulled until the links slid over each other.

Carrow's severed head fell onto the dark platform.


	24. Selected Letters

**July 1986**

_Tonks,_

_What the hell happened on the train?! Peter is dead and no one will tell me anything. Eni, Charlie, and Maddison won't respond to my letters. I just want to make sure they're alright. Are you alright? The Prophet is shit at reporting and I can't leave this castle._

_Aaron_

* * *

_Wotcher, Aaron! The Daily Prophet is fucking shit. Did I use those words right together? Your muggle swears?_

_The others were really bad off after the attack. I was, too. I think I was in shock for a bit._ _The Prophet was right about the mud, at least. It COVERED everything. I wasn't worried until the windows broke. Then the mud flooded our compartment and Peter and I were trapped. I kept pulling on the door, but there was already too much mud. I closed my mouth to keep it from going down my throat, but I gasped for air and sucked a bunch in anyway, like a bloody idiot. Peter was standing on his seat. I think he was trying to get his wand out of his bag. I don't know if he ever did. I lost sight of him when I was buried. If Charlie and Maddison hadn't of pulled me out, I would have died with Peter._

_Eni was unconscious when I last saw her. Maddison and a Sixth Year carried her off the train. Maddison was all cut up. Charlie was bad off in the head, Aaron. I’ve NEVER seen him like that, and we’ve known each other since we was just tots with toy brooms. He kept digging and trying to find Peter. We helped him pull out most of Peter's body, but he didn't stop, even after Maddison and I realized Peter was dead. Charlie just kept digging through the mud, all frantic. We gotta make sure he’s not gonna go mental over this._

_I don't think I’m alright in the head myself. When Mum got me back home, I stood under the water in our shower for hours. She had to pull me out. The mud was long gone. It just really messed me up. I’ve had problems changing forms. It’s not a good sign._

_Write back. It helps telling you what happened._

_Tonks_

* * *

_Tonks,_

_What you wrote was so much worse than anything I've heard from the people here or read in The Prophet. I'm glad you weren't killed in that compartment. I would have been in shock, too. Write me as much as you need to. I’ll try writing Charlie again._

_It's not fair. Peter was finally hanging out with us outside of classes and giving us shite. He even told Rhodus off in Herbology a few weeks ago. It was brilliant. I can't believe he's dead._

_Aaron_

_P.S. Your muggle swearing is FUCKING excellent._

* * *

_Charlie,_

_Tonks told me what happened on the train. We're worried about you. And I'm really sorry you had to go through all of it._

_Just respond, ok?_

_Aaron_

* * *

_Aaron,_

_Sorry it took me so long to write you back. I have felt really bad since the train, and it’s hard to talk about what happened. Maddison's mum has been taking us out to the movies and shops, trying to show us a good time, but I’m not enjoying it. I feel numb. What's the point after what happened? Who summoned all of that mud and why kill students? It was so awful, Aaron. I keep having nightmares and feeling like I can’t breathe; like there's still mud stuck in my throat._

_Maddison says hi. She says she'll try to write before the summer is over. I wouldn't hold your breath. She's trying not to think about Hogwarts or magic until we have to go back in September._

_I have to tell you something that happened on the train. Charlie, Maddison, and I were pinned down in one of the aisles during the attack. We were going to die. There was so much mud and we couldn't breathe. So, I reached out, thought PROTEGO, and projected a shield WITHOUT A WAND. It must have been the fear or the adrenaline. I was able to keep the shield up long enough to get us back to the compartment where Tonks and Peter were trapped. It took so much out of me though. I collapsed. I never even saw Peter's body. Maybe that's for the best._

_I wish you were here. I can't always talk to Maddison, and it makes me feel like I'm alone._

_Eni_

* * *

_Eni,_

_YOU USED NON-VERBAL HAND MAGIC?! That's brilliant! They say that's really hard to do. Few witches and wizards can even manage it. Even if it was the fear or the adrenaline - that's amazing._

_I haven't felt right after I heard about what happened to all of you and saw that Peter was killed. You’re right. What kind of people kill kids on a train?_

_I haven't been through what the rest of you went through, but I feel so angry about all of it. No one is around to talk to here, either. Filch put me to work cleaning classrooms and organizing storage closets. It distracts me, so I work late to keep my mind off the train and you lot being gone._

_I’m lonely, too._

_Aaron_

* * *

_Wotcher, Aaron, have you heard_ _from Charlie yet? He still won't write me back. I know he's blaming himself for what happened to Peter, but there's nothing more he could have done, honest, and I’m right worried about him._

_I'm still not right myself - can’t change my hair color worth a Knut. My dad’s muggle-born and he wants to take me to see a therapist. My mum keeps slipping Draught of Peace into my tea when she thinks I’m not looking._

_I'm glad you like my muggle swearing. Teach me more when we are back in school, alright? And tell me as soon as you hear from Charlie._

_Tonks_

* * *

_Aaron,_

_I'm sorry, too._

_Charlie_


	25. Time to Heal

**August 1986**

Charlie clutched the handle of his broom and plummeted beneath a layer of altocumulus clouds. The drop sent his stomach into his chest and he smiled from the rush. Griffins weren't supposed to be this fast, especially not a young one crippled by what Charlie suspected was a broken basal phalanx.

_Where the hell did it go?_

Charlie emerged beneath the clouds and hit a pocket of turbulence. The broom shook as he surged upwards, riding the uneven air. The wind ripped at his skin until his face went numb and his scarf tangled around his neck. It was hot on the ground, but it was much colder at his current elevation. His gloves, sweater, and scarf kept off the chill, and his goggles kept his eyes from shutting against the sting of the wind.

Charlie had first spotted the griffin when he was out flying two days ago. He'd watched its erratic movements and wondered how he could capture the cub without hurting it more. His worn copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ only documented how to capture flying creatures with the use of magic.

_That's because Scamander wasn't underage when he did most of his work. He wasn't out here doing this without magic._

Charlie scanned the sky as he tore through the air. He heard a cry and turned fast, sliding down the handle of his broom until his feet came out of the stirrups. 

The griffin cub attacked him; its talons ripped through his sweater and skin, drawing blood. Charlie winced, but he didn't let go of his broom. He accelerated and pulled away from the animal. It chased him.

_I'll have to be quick about it._

Charlie released the net tied across his back and made sure the handline was secured to the broom handle.

The griffin cub caught up to him. Charlie threw up his arms to protect his face. The griffin screeched loud in his left ear; in pain and agitated.

Charlie wrapped the emergency release cord around his wrist. He had modified the net. If it got tangled - or the griffin struggled too hard - he could pull the cord and the entire thing would unravel.

The griffin circled back toward him. Charlie tossed the net -

\- it came down over the cub.

_Bloody brilliant!_

Charlie pulled the lead line and cinched the net closed.

The griffin hated the net. It struggled.

Charlie pulled it into his lap and held the cub against his chest. With its wings pressed against the sides of its body and its talons tangled in the cords, the creature looked small. It couldn't have been out of the nest for very long.

Charlie maintained a low speed while the griffin calmed down, navigated to the forest outside Ottery St. Catchpole, and headed for his camp.

Molly sat on a wooden stool in front of his tent.

Charlie circled twice, trying to decide what to tell her about the griffin. If she had already looked inside his tent, it didn't matter. He landed by the fire pit and got off his broom, cradling the entangled creature against his chest.

He walked past Molly. Neither of them said anything.

Molly followed Charlie into the tent. Inside, three mokes watched them from a large cage; a flightless golden snidget sat perched on a lantern; and a blind knarl slept in a nest made of leaves, dirt, and tree roots.

Charlie knelt down and untied the net. The griffin pecked at him. Charlie took a dead mouse out of a basket and fed it to the cub. While the griffin ate, he checked its injured right wing. The end of it turned down at a sharp angle. As bad as it was, he was surprised the animal had been able to fly at all.

Charlie used another dead mouse to lure the griffin into a cage lined with straw and blankets. Once the griffin was inside, he closed the door. He filled a bowl with water from a pitcher and set it inside.

Without turning to look at Molly, he said, "I'll release all of them before school starts, I swear. They just need time to heal. I couldn't leave them out there on their own."

"It's alright, Charlie."

The griffin chirped and tilted its head sideways. Charlie reached inside the cage and stroked its head until he heard what sounded like purring.

"Is that a griffin?"

"Yes."

"What's wrong with it?"

"Broken wing," Charlie said. "I'll have to stabilize the bone and bandage it."

At least the cub had stopped assaulting him.

Molly took out her wand and aimed it at the griffin. " _Ferula_." 

Bandages appeared and wrapped around the creature's maimed wing. 

"It will be a lot easier when you can use magic outside of school."

Charlie went back to the basket and took out a handful of dead crickets. He fed them to the mokes.

"Charlie, I came here to talk to you about the train."

"I don't want to talk about the train."

"This isn't about what you want. Look at me."

Charlie turned around and leaned on the table. The snidget hopped from the lantern, across the table, and walked up Charlie's arm. He scooped up the bird and set it back on the lantern.

"Your father and I have given you time to stay in the woods and grieve, but you can only get so far on your own."

"I'm fine."

Molly looked at the stack of unopened letters covering the end of the table. "No, you're isolating yourself. You haven't spent any time with your siblings and you won't even talk to your friends."

"I just want to be left alone."

"You've been alone for almost two months."

"I like being alone. And I said I was fine."

"Charlie, you saw one of your friends die. You're not fine."

"I didn’t see him die. He was already dead by the time I got to him. I should have kept digging after we pulled out Tonks, but I stopped. I _forgot_ about Peter. I forgot he was there and he died while I stopped digging."

"It wasn't your fault, Charlie."

"It _is_ my fault."

Molly stood, raised her wand, and reached for Charlie's shoulder, where blood mixed with torn wool.

" _Episkey_ ," Molly said, waving her wand.

Charlie's shoulder burned as the skin mended.

"I'll fix your sweater tonight," Molly said. "Right now, I need to fix your perceptions of guilt and loss."

"I don't need you to-"

"You _do_ need to hear what I have to say, or you won't recover from what happened."

"I don't want to recover. I want Peter to be alive."

"Peter died because some - pardon my muggle - fucking sociopaths attacked the train, Charlie. There wasn't anything more you could have done. Peter may have died before you and the girls even got back to the compartment. It wasn't your fault."

Charlie didn't respond.

"I don't talk about my brothers often," Molly said. "You were too young when they died, I was grieving, and I didn't want you growing up scared of Death Eaters, or the war."

Molly put a hand on Charlie's shoulder.

"Losing someone takes a part out of you, Charlie. Even after time dulls the wounds, the pain sits in your mind and reminds you it's there every time you think you're past it. I want to tell you that this is the last time you will encounter death, or lose someone you care about, but you're a wizard, and our lives seem to be filled with struggle and loss. If you let the guilt of what happened build inside of you, the weight of it will kill you, Charlie."

"I don't know how to stop it."

"You forgive yourself. Because you won't survive in our world if you don't."


	26. The Daily Prophet - 26 August, 1986

_**MUGGLE-BORN REGISTRATION COMMISSION ACT PROVES DEADLY. VOTE ON HOLD.** _

_The Muggle-Born Registration Commission Act has been controversial since its conception two years ago, surrounded by heated protests from opponents and counter-protests from supporters. Those who oppose the legislation have frequently spoken out about the ability of the act to turn the magical community against itself and encourage violence, and now they have the Minister for Magic on their side. This morning, Millicent Bagnold confirmed that the rumored killings of four muggle-borns inside the Wizengamot dungeon did, in fact, occur. Aurors have been tasked with solving the murders, which are believed to have been committed by proponents of the act._

_While it is unknown who is responsible for the attack made on the Hogwarts Express in June, resulting in the deaths of five students, three of whom were muggle-born, and Elara Bailey, the half-blood trolley witch, the Minister for Magic had this to say:_

_"We hesitate to assign blame to either side until we have more facts. Ultimately, the side responsible for the attack does not matter. Whether the mud was used as a symbol by those who are called by the derogatory term associated with it, or if it was intended, instead, to be merely a means to an end for proponents of the act, the children and Miss Bailey remain dead. I can't promise justice for the families of those killed, but I can stop providing the kindling stroking the fires of hate."_

_Millicent Bagnold then announced that the Muggle-Born Registration Commission Act will be shelved and the vote will be put on hold for as long as it takes for the violence to end. When asked what measures will be taken to ensure the safety of the students as they return to Hogwarts next week, the Minister for Magic explained that multiple Aurors will be on the train to escort and protect the children._

_In addition to the controversies, violence, and deaths, Marcus Carrow, the author of the Muggle-Born Registration Commission Act, remains missing._


	27. Monsters

**October 1986**

Charlie sat at a round wooden table at the back of the Three Broomsticks Inn, leaning over _The Monster Book of Monsters_. His battered copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ was on the empty chair next to him. Charlie had secured the worn pages with an adhesive over the summer, and a binding charm once he arrived at Hogwarts, but pages kept tearing and falling out anyway. He used a piece of twine, wrapped twice around the book, to keep it intact when he wasn't reading it.

The parchment on the table in front of him was blank. He hadn't even taken his quill or inkpot out of his satchel. He should have started his essay about the two hundred practical uses for the Oculus Potion, but he got distracted when he found a recipe for dragon tonic and now he was reading about the Antipodean Opaleye.

Tonks picked up _Fantastic Beasts_ , set it on the table, and sat down next to Charlie. Her hair was purple.

"Have you seen the others? They were supposed to meet me here to critique a presentation I have to give for Muggle Studies on Monday."

"No," Charlie said. He had avoided the others on purpose all day. He hadn't spoken to any of his classmates in over a week. He looked back at _The Monster Book of Monsters_.

Eni and Maddison walked through the front door of the inn, laughing and leaning on each other. Tonks waved them over. Eni and Maddison grabbed two empty chairs and dragged them over to the table.

"Charlie! We didn't know you'd be here," Eni said. "You'll be good at critiquing whatever Tonks has to say."

"Why would I be good at it?"

"Because of what your dad does."

"I don't pay attention when he talks about work."

"You must've picked up a few things,” Maddison said. “Doesn't your family have a telephone? I know your dad has a car."

"He doesn't drive it much. And I've never used the telephone."

Eni stood back up. "Right then, I'm getting tea. Anyone want anything?"

"I'll take tea," Tonks said.

"Me too," Maddison said. "Put them all on my tab."

Tonks took out her notes. "Can we start with microwave ovens? My dad has never used one, so he wasn't much help. They seem like the closest thing to magic muggles have devised."

Charlie slammed his book shut. It didn't like the rough treatment and snapped at him.

Maddison threw up her hands. "What’s wrong now?"

Charlie pulled his arm away from the book that was still trying to bite him. "I'm not in the mood."

He opened his satchel and shoved the book inside. It growled.

"You weren't the only one on that train," Maddison said. "I was right there with you, trying to dig Peter out. There wasn't anything more we could have done."

Charlie shoved the blank parchment into his satchel, tearing it. "Speak for yourself."

"Charlie," Maddison said, "stop running off. You need to deal with what happened. You should talk about it."

"You can't tell me how to deal with this, Maddison."

Eni came back to the table with Aaron, who had joined her at the bar. He held two mugs. He passed one to Maddison and handed the other to Tonks.

Charlie stood up and grabbed his satchel. "Peter is dead. And it's my fault. There. I talked about it."

"You're full of shit if you think his death was your fault. If it was your fault, then it's my fault. It's Eni's fault and Tonks' fault, too."

"It's not any of your faults," Aaron said.

Charlie picked up _Fantastic Beasts_ and pointed it at Aaron. "Stay out of this. You weren't even on the train."

”Charlie, stop,” Eni said.

"No, I wasn’t," Aaron said. "Do you know how I found out about the attack? I was in Hogsmeade when Hagrid and the others brought the bodies back here. I saw Peter's dead body when Hagrid carried him past me, and no one could tell me if you - or anyone else - were alive."

Charlie pushed past Tonks and Maddison. His satchel brushed the table and knocked Tonks' notes on the floor. He stepped on them as he walked up to Aaron.

"Do you think you could have done any better? Do you think you could have saved Peter?"

"No."

"Do you think I could have done more?"

"None of you could have done more," Aaron said. "Even with hand magic, Eni almost killed herself trying to keep all of you alive."

"You don't know anything about using magic, Aaron," Charlie said, "so don't pretend like you do."

Charlie shoved past him and left the inn.


	28. Hypnopompic

**November 1986**

Barty Crouch Junior walked into the kitchen and faced a corner he didn't frequent. It was the one where the calendar hung. Another year had gone by and he realized he hadn't paid it any attention. It had passed while he was _TRAPPED IN THIS BODY_ making toast, coffee, and taking cold showers.

He heard music. He didn't remember going to the record player, but that didn't mean it wasn't his hands that had taken the album, removed the vinyl from its sleeve, and adjusted the needle. It only meant he had more blank spaces in his head. It was hard to record memories when you weren't the one creating them.

It had become easier _NO_ to give in _NO_ to his puppeteer.

His feet turned and he shuffled across the room and stood in his _AH I SEE YOU RECOGNIZED YOUR MISTAKE_ usual corner.

This is all _NO_ fine. And you are _I_ _'M NOT_ happy.

He felt his father inside his mind; looking out through his opaque eyes, controlling when he moved, and implanting feelings that weren't his own. When the old man wanted to - when he pushed hard enough - he could send his son to a dark corner where there wasn't any sight or feeling; where he was completely detached from his body and his consciousness flickered like a dying flame. Doing so often enough caused damage, however, and his father was careful to only damage him when he deemed it necessary.

_FIGHT IT FIGHT IT_

The darkness _THAT'S IT FIGHT IT HE'S NOT PAYING ATTENTION HE ALREADY MESSED UP AND LEFT YOU IN THE WRONG CORNER_ didn't come. He felt for the corner of his mind _THAT'S IT_ and found _YES KEEP AT IT_ an edge where the fabric of the curse had _DON'T LOSE IT KEEP HOLD OF IT_ delaminated and the _KEEP HOLD OF IT_ top layer, just the slightest fragment of the edge, had lost its adhesion.

_MOVE_

His index finger twitched.

His father's voice echoed inside of his head. _"You've misbehaved."_

The room went dark, and Barty was sent to the corner of his mind where he wasn't sure if he was alive or dead.


	29. In the Library

**November 1986**

Aaron sat across a table from Tonks, leaning over her copy of _Ancient Runes Made Easy_. He couldn't focus on the homework much longer. He had stayed in the kitchen too late last night - helping Lara with inventory - and he was tired.

Madam Pince walked out from between the bookshelves on the other side of the room, and Tonks shot Aaron a look. Pince had pulled her to the side last week and had a long talk with her after she laughed too loud at something Eni said. 

Aaron turned down the volume on his Walkman until the music no longer drifted past his headphones. Pince walked past them.

Tonks sighed. "It's been three hours. We should have just taken Care of Magical Creatures so we wouldn't be stuck in the library all Saturday."

Aaron took off his headphones. "I don't think taking Kettleburn's class would have saved us. Charlie walked in about an hour ago. He's been reading in the corner behind you."

Tonks turned around. "I bet he isn't even doing homework. He's probably just researching more about dragons for the hell of it. That's all he ever does now."

Aaron looked at his parchment and put his headphones back on. He got three translations further into the assignment before Maddison snuck up behind him and pulled them off his head.

"Did you bring it?"

"It's in my bag," Aaron said.

Maddison looked around to make sure no one was watching, pulled a bottle of fire whiskey out of Aaron's satchel, and slipped it into her bag.

"Eleven o'clock in the Slytherin common room," she said.

"I’ll be there for sure," Tonks said. "Is the password still nightshade?"

Maddison nodded.

"I can't anymore," Aaron said. "I have to work."

"What do they have you doing now?" Maddison asked.

"Something with Hagrid."

"You can't stop by after?"

"I don't know how long it will take," Aaron said.

He stood up and handed his parchment to Tonks. "Here's the first part. Well, most of it. I'll finish the last bit tomorrow."

"I'll get the second half done and swap you back," Tonks said.

"Where are you going?"

"To do something I'll probably regret," Aaron said.

He grabbed his satchel and walked over to Charlie before he could talk himself out of it.

Charlie didn't look up.

Aaron pulled out one of the empty chairs and sat down. "There's a dragon in the forest."

"What's that word you and Maddison like to use? Oh yeah. Bollocks."

"Hagrid was the one who wanted me to tell you. Go ask him about it."

Charlie looked up. "Are you serious?"

"Yes," Aaron said. "Look, I'm going out there tonight because Hagrid and Kettleburn need an extra hand and I have to work, but you actually care about dragons, so you should be there."

Charlie didn't say anything.

"If you want to go, but you don't want me there, that's fine. Meet Hagrid at the edge of the forest after sundown. Just tell me if you go so I don't show up, too, alright? Pass the word to me through Donaghan or whoever you still talk to."

"I don't talk to Donaghan either," Charlie said. "What are they doing with a dragon?"

"Hagrid wouldn't tell me much, but it didn't sound like anything good. The dragon is old. I think it's dying."

"They really want help?"

"Yes, and it should be you, not me."

"Are you saying you don't want to see a dragon?"

"Not as much as you do, Charlie. You're the one who wants to study them."

Charlie said, "You know, you don't have to stay back if I go."

"Can you really stand to look at my non-magical mudblood face all night?"

Charlie closed his book. "I shouldn't have said what I did at the Three Broomsticks."

"No, you shouldn't have."

"I want to see the dragon. I can help Kettleburn and Hagrid if you don't mind me going with you."

"Right then," Aaron said. He stood up and pushed in the chair. "Bring a lantern."


	30. Heartstrings (or Staying Awake with the Dragon)

**November 1986**

The sky was ignited with streaks of orange and red when Charlie left the castle. He walked across the grounds and headed down the hill toward Hagrid's, carrying a lantern he'd taken from the supply closet in the Gryffindor common room. It was cold and the wind had picked up. He should have borrowed Bill's heavy coat.

The hut was dark. Charlie walked past the garden and took the dirt path that lead to the forest. He saw Hagrid at the edge of the trees, holding a crossbow and a lantern. Aaron stood next to him with a weighed-down pack and a canvass roll slung over his shoulder.

Fang barked and bounded up to Charlie. He jumped on Charlie's shoulders and knocked him down, licking his face and neck. Charlie laughed and tried to stand up, but Fang was too heavy.

Hagrid whistled. Fang ran back to him and left Charlie on the ground.

"Sorry 'bout that, Charlie. He's still got a lot to learn."

"He's fine, Hagrid," Charlie said. He stood up, wiped drool off his face, adjusted his satchel, and picked up the lantern.

"It was fine a few months ago when he was a hundred pounds lighter. Now, it's just bad manners."

Hagrid glared at Fang, who lowered his head and tucked his tail.

"Professor Kettleburn is already in the forest," Hagrid said. "We should get going."

"What are we doing with the dragon, Hagrid?"

"I thought ya should see a dragon in real life, since you want ta study them and all."

Hagrid hesitated. "But, you should know that tonight isn't just for that. The dragon is dying. Have you ever heard about what happens to a dragon when it dies? What we have ta do?"

Charlie had read about dragon poachers; people who hunted dragons and killed them for their hides, horns, scales, and blood. Dragon blood, in particular, was expensive, and was always in high demand. But illegal poaching wasn't the only way to obtain it. 

"We have to harvest it," Charlie said.

Hagrid nodded. "We are gonna stay with the dragon until it dies, then we'll collect its blood, along with everything else. You are both old enough ta know where heartstrings come from. You aren't First Years anymore. I think you can handle what we have to do. But, it's gonna be messy. Real messy. Dragons are amazing creatures, but watching one die is hard, and cutting one open afterwards is worse. If ya don't want to do this, I understand. But we really could use the help."

 _It's something that has to be done._ Charlie said, "I'll do it."

"This is the right way ta get dragon blood, you know. Not like the way the poachers do it."

"I read about it. I understand."

"Reading about it and doing it are two different things, Charlie." Hagrid looked at Aaron. "I won't tell Dumbledore if ya want to bail."

"No," Aaron said. "I'm still going."

"Alright," Hagrid said. "Stay close and follow me. You've probably both heard bad things about the forest. Some of them are true, but nothing will hurt ya if you stay with me and Fang."

Charlie and Aaron followed Hagrid into the forest. It didn't take long to lose what was left of the light.

Charlie walked next to Aaron. "I can carry the roll, or the bag."

Aaron didn't look at him. "Just hold the lantern."

Hagrid turned around. "I told you two to stay close! Catch up!"

Charlie and Aaron walked faster.

"Hagrid, how old is the dragon?" Charlie asked.

"We don't know for sure. Kettleburn thinks it's around twelve hundred and fifty years old based on its physical condition. The only other clue we have is that it is actually in the forest at all. There haven’t been any dragons living near Hogwarts in centuries. When dragons die of old age, they usually return to where they were born. There's some parchments from the library with some notes about a Welsh Green who had a few chicks in here around thirteen hundred years ago. It might be from that litter, but we don’t rightly know." 

They left the trail. Hagrid pushed back the vegetation. The terrain changed and sloped uphill. 

Every so often, Fang's head shot up at the noises that came from the woods around them, but they kept moving. If something was following them, they never saw it.

It took almost an hour for them to get through the forest and approach the clearing where Kettleburn sat with a campfire. 

Charlie saw the dragon as soon as they stepped out of the trees. It _was_ a Welsh Green, though its coloring was faded and its features were pallid. The dragon laid on its stomach with its legs and wings folded against its body. Its head laid on the ground, cradled by a bed of straw.

Professor Kettleburn leaned over the fire, stirring a pot. He had lost an arm - and one of his legs - to some creature years prior, and his prosthetic arm rested on a nearby bedroll. He smiled at them and beckoned to Hagrid.

The dragon turned its head toward Charlie. Its breathing was slow and labored. Its clear eyes watched Charlie as he walked closer. Scars and wrinkled hide covered its face. More scars were scattered across its neck, back, and wings; long gashes and irregular-shaped gouges where the hide was thin.

_How many times has it fought other dragons? Or escaped from hunters?_

Charlie realized the dragon had about half the scales it should have, based on what he had seen in textbooks. He had never seen any pictures of dragons this old before though.

_Do they loose their scales permanently as they age?_

Aaron waved a hand in front of Charlie's face.

"What?"

He held two bowls of what smelled like beef stew. "I asked if you wanted dinner."

"Oh, right, thanks." Charlie took one of the bowls. He downed the contents.

The dragon exhaled hard and vapor came out of its nostrils. Aaron jumped back.

"Don't worry, son." Kettleburn walked up to them with his prosthetic leg thumping on the ground. "She can't breathe fire anymore. She's far too old for that. Based on the research I've studied, the Welsh Green loses its ability to breathe fire around the age of eleven hundred or so, though I imagine this lady was still a fierce fighter until the last few years when time got the better of her."

Kettleburn tried to get the dragon to drink from the trough of water he had setup for her, but she turned away from him.

"She stopped eating three days ago," Kettleburn said.

Charlie set the lantern on the ground with his satchel. "What can we do?”

"Keep her comfortable. I'd give her Draught of Peace, but, based on her size, she would need a lot more than what I have on hand. Here, Charlie, come see this."

Charlie walked up to the dragon. Kettleburn gently removed one of her scales - it didn't take much hand pressure for it to come loose - and handed it to Charlie.

The scale was bigger than his hand, hard, and made of transparent green layers, like muscovite or gypsum. "She's shedding them."

Kettleburn nodded. "Many species of dragons molt and grow new scales beneath the old ones as the seasons change, but, here, look at this."

Charlie studied the rough wear patterns of her hide, and said what he had already suspected. "There aren't any new scales coming in."

"It seems as though she has been losing them for years without growing more; however, in the last few days, she has lost a high percentage of the remaining scales. I believe it is her significant age, and her proximity to death."

The dragon turned to look back at them. She looked exhausted.

"I'm not sure how much time she has left," Kettleburn said. "This may take most of the night, and possibly into the morning. I told Hagrid we can sleep in shifts. Whoever is awake can alert the others when she passes."

Hagrid waved Aaron over to the fire. He handed him the crossbow and showed him how to load it and hold it, with his shoulder back and his arm level. Charlie watched Aaron fire a few arrows into the trees and looked back at the dragon. He reached out and rubbed her head. She closed her eyes and pushed her massive snout against his chest. She smelled like sulfur.

Charlie wasn't sleeping tonight.

"Will she be in pain?"

"I expect her to go peacefully," Kettleburn said. "She should drift into sleep, stop breathing, and never wake up. We will have to work quickly once she passes though. Her blood will start to solidify within fifteen minutes, and that is the thing we need the most. The rest can be removed much later, but we will have to drain her blood and get to her heartstrings right away."

Charlie tried not to think about what they would have to do to drain her blood that fast, or how they were going to get to her heartstrings, but he had seen the knife handles poking out from the canvass roll Aaron had carried through the forest.

_If I want to study dragons, I have to do this. If I can't, then I need to find something else I'm good at._

Kettleburn walked back to the fire for more stew. Charlie grabbed his satchel and took out a sheet of parchment, his quill, and his inkpot. He sat in the leaves and dirt and sketched the dragon, starting with her head and snout. He made sure to duplicate the way her hide wrinkled around her eyes, then he added the horns and started on her neck, following the tangled lines of scars. He drew the curve of her back, the folds of her wings, and replicated the patterns of her remaining scales, noticing that she had lost the most where her wings folded and rubbed against her abdomen.

Charlie's hands were cold and cramping when Aaron sat down next to him, holding Hagrid's crossbow. He realized he was hungry again.

Still shading in the dragon's tail, he asked, "Does Kettleburn have any more stew?"

"Kettleburn put the stew away two hours ago," Aaron said. "He's asleep. So is Hagrid."

"What?"

Charlie looked up at the campfire. The pot was gone and the flames were low. Kettleburn was asleep on his bedroll. Hagrid leaned against a tree, snoring with his mouth open and Fang in his lap.

Charlie shoved the cork into his inkpot. "I didn't realize how late it was."

"I figured," Aaron said. He looked at Charlie's drawing. "You're really into the dragon."

"I'm glad you told me about her."

"It was Hagrid's idea, not mine."

Charlie opened his satchel. He made sure the drawing was dry - and wouldn't smear - before he tucked it between the pages of _Magical Drafts and Potions_.

The dragon shifted in her sleep.

Charlie looked at Aaron. "I'm sorry for what I said at the Three Broomsticks. You didn't deserve that."

Aaron shrugged. "You were right. I wasn't on the train. I'll never understand what you and the others went through."

"I meant the other thing I said."

"You were right about that, too."

Charlie shook his head. "No, I've been an arsehole. You lot have done nothing but try to help me not feel like rubbish over Peter's death, and I've responded by shoving you away and isolating myself."

"You have to stop doing that, and thinking that what happened was your fault."

"Aaron, I _forgot_ Peter was there. It is my fault. I stopped digging."

"Maddison stopped digging, too. It's not her fault. You were all trying to survive. You have to stop blaming yourself."

Charlie kept his eyes on the dragon. "I can't. You don't understand."

The temperature had plummeted and the air had a deep chill. Aaron stood up, grabbed two blankets from the unused bedrolls, and walked back over to Charlie. 

"Let me see those," Charlie said. He took out his wand and waved it over the blankets. " _Focillo_."

The blankets started to radiate heat. Charlie wrapped his around his shoulders. Aaron did the same and sat down next to him.

"I wasn't there when Peter died," Aaron said, "but I've blamed myself for things before. It's not healthy."

Charlie looked at Aaron. "What have you blamed yourself for?"

"It doesn't matter."

"If it's not being able to use magic, you're right, that's not healthy and you need to stop."

Aaron shook his head. "It's not that." His breath fogged in the air between them. "I don't like what my life was like before your dad came and got me."

"You've never said anything about it."

"I've never wanted to. I don't like talking about it," Aaron said. "I don't have a family like you, Charlie. My mother - whoever she was - had mental problems. She gave me up."

He looked down. "I was placed with different foster parents and moved around a lot. I've lost track of how many people I've lived with, and how many places I've stayed. I never knew where I was going to end up next, or when I would have to leave somewhere I liked. I never had any control over things like that."

Charlie put a hand on his shoulder. "That's not right. You never should've had to live that way."

Aaron shrugged. "I didn't have much of a choice. But I decided it was my fault that no one wanted me, and I blamed myself every time I was moved again. I'd get so upset that I'd make myself sick."

He looked at Charlie. "I know it's not like what happened on the train. I'm just trying to say that I've blamed myself for things I couldn't control before, and it makes everything worse. I wish I could have told myself to stop doing it, so I guess that's why I'm telling you."

"I'll try to stop. I just don't know what else to do."

"You can talk to us, you know. If that helps. Or - I don't know - beat the hell out of some bludgers."

Charlie watched the rise and fall of the dragon's dying body; her breaths were slow and drawn out. "I miss him."

"I do, too."

"You know something else?"

"What?"

"I'm useless without magic. When we were trapped in that aisle and I didn't have my wand, there wasn't anything I could do to get us out of there. It's hard to survive in this world without magic."

Aaron smiled. "It's total shit, right?"

* * *

The dragon's breathing had slowed again, and she hadn't stirred for the past three hours. It wouldn't be long now.

The sky had turned a lighter shade of black. Aaron was wrapped under his blanket, asleep against the dragon. Charlie nudged him.

Aaron looked up. "Is it time?"

Charlie nodded. "It will be soon."

Aaron pushed off the blanket and stood up. "I'll wake up Kettleburn and Hagrid."

Charlie rubbed the dragon's head, not sure that she could even feel anything anymore.

A few moments passed before she opened her mouth and pushed out her last breath. Her body went still.

Kettleburn checked her, and nodded at Charlie. The dragon was dead.

Hagrid already had a knife in his hand. He leaned over the dragon, picked up her head, and opened her throat. Kettleburn had a wide-mouth bottle ready beneath Hagrid. The dragon's blood poured into the container; a green so dark it looked black. It should have filled the bottle fast, but the vessel had been enchanted with some type of space manipulation enchantment that kept it from overrunning.

Kettleburn motioned for Aaron to take over. Aaron grabbed the bottle and balanced it beneath the dragon's head. Some of the blood missed its target during the transfer and ran down Aaron's arms.

Kettleburn moved the dragon's wing away from its abdomen and handed Charlie a knife.

"This is where I really need your help. We're going to cut through the dragon's hide and into her chest. The hide is thick and tough, but I've enchanted the knives with tearing spells to make it easier. Cut parallel to my incision and you'll be fine. You might want to take off your sweater though."

Charlie pulled his sweater over his head, tossed it on top of his blanket, and took the knife. Kettleburn stabbed the dragon's side and pulled the knife down. Charlie took a deep breath and did the same. Even with the enchantments, they had to tear hard to get through the hide. They cut parallel incisions, then Kettleburn cut perpendicular to their lines and Charlie helped him pull back the hide. His fingers and arms were covered in dragon blood.

Charlie cut through muscles and tendons, mirroring Kettleburn's movements. Blood ran down the dragon's side and covered the ground around them. It soaked Charlie's shirt and trainers. He kept going, moving the sharp knife through muscle fibers. 

Kettleburn pulled apart the dragon's rib cage with some type of spell work. Charlie winced at the sounds of breaking bones. Once they were past the ribs, and another layer of tissue, Charlie could see the dragon's lungs and the heart. The organs were still.

"We'll have to cut the heart out to get to the chordae tendineae, or the heartstrings. They are the tendons linking the muscles of the heart to the ventricle valves," Kettleburn explained. "Are you alright?"

Charlie nodded.

"Then we'll keep going."

Kettleburn and Charlie cut out the heart; tearing through veins, ligaments, and arteries. When it was detached, Kettleburn used a levitation charm to raise it in the air between them. He guided Charlie's hand to the first heartstring and showed him where to cut. It was like tearing through rope. 

Charlie removed the first heartstring. Kettleburn handed him a piece of canvass and he wrapped it inside.

They cut out the rest while Hagrid and Aaron filled four bottles with blood.

"So many of the potions and things we use come from these animals," Kettleburn said, cutting out one of the last heartstrings. "Few witches and wizards ever realize what it meant for the animal to die, and what it took to remove the heartstrings and drain its blood. It's gruesome work. They all buy their vials of dragon blood off the shelves and get their heartstring-cored wands from Ollivander, and they never think about this side of things. It means so much that you were both here."

When it was over - and they had cast charms to clean up the mess before something in the woods smelled the blood and got hungry - Hagrid put his massive hand on Charlie's shoulder. "I'm really proud of ya, Charlie. This wasn't easy. You're gonna do great work with dragons."

Hagrid cut off a piece of the dragon's flesh and fed it to Fang.

"Kettleburn and I can finish up," Hagrid said. "You can both head back to the castle. I imagine you'll want showers and breakfast. Take Fang with ya, too, in case you run into any trouble. Stick to the path and leave everything at my hut."

Charlie and Aaron walked back through the Forbidden Forest with Fang, carrying the canvas roll filled with knives and dragon heartstrings, and the heavy bottles of dragon blood.


	31. Mind the Gap

**March 1987**

Passersby heard the air split; a sudden _CRACK_ that echoed down the alleyway, but no one cared enough to stop and find out what had caused it. The abrasive sound had probably just been made by a backfiring car, or someone tossing used furniture into a dumpster.

The young witch who had appeared out of nowhere leaned against a brick wall and waited for her companion, watching cars drive past on the adjacent roadway; headlights reflecting in shop windows.

_CRACK_

A wizard with similar features joined her. They left the alleyway together, turned right, and dodged people on their way to the Underground.

A simple charm got them past the turnstiles without paying. They took the stairs down and walked out onto the platform as the next train arrived; waited their turn to board, stepped over the gap, and shouldered past people to get away from the doors.

The witch held onto the bar above her head and leaned with the train as it pulled away from the station. "Two stops, Cass?"

"Three.”

"Three?"

"Kennington is closer, Jules," Cassio said.

"We should have left sooner," Juliet said.

They got off at Kennington Station and took the stairs up to the streets.

Cassio checked addresses as they walked past. "Number seventeen is just ahead."

The apartment building was old and there wasn't a lift. They took the stairs to the fourth floor.

"Four oh five is ahead on the right," Cassio said. "That will be Albert Daven."

Juliet knocked twice. There was no answer.

She knocked again. "Mister Daven? Are you in?"

Juliet heard movement and muffled voices on the other side of the door. Something heavy _thud_ fell on the floor.

". . . wasn’t supposed to be here . . ."

". . . hold the . . . still . . ."

". . . he was supposed to warn . . . if . . ."

"Shit," Juliet said, "we're too late."

She cast _Alohomora_ and pulled on the doorknob.

"There's a ward," Cassio said.

So there was. Juliet raised her wand and chanted, trying to break the enchantment. It didn't work.

"It's a gate ward," Cassio said, "we can counter it if we take our time and keep-"

"There isn't time, Cass."

Juliet waved her wand, unlocked the door of the adjacent flat, and ran inside. A woman screamed.

Juliet hit her with the stunning spell and knocked her unconscious; caught her body before it hit the floor and laid her on a sofa.

Juliet faced the wall between the two flats, raised her wand, and thought _Confringo_.

The wall exploded. Insulation and fractured wood framing hung around Juliet as she stepped through the opening with Cassio behind her.

A man was on the floor in the dark, choking and holding his neck. Juliet ignited the end of her wand.

A crudely cut _M_ dripped from the man's forehead. Blood covered the front of his body. His throat was torn open.

Juliet reached for the dying man. "Who did this?"

The man's vocal cords had been severed. His eyes weren't responsive. 

_BANG_

A flash of red light came at them.

Juliet tore her wand in a fast loop, casting a shield. The incoming spell disintegrated on impact with her barrier. 

Juliet left the shield, ran across the living room, and dove through the open window, tumbling out onto the fire escape. Two dark figures ran up the ladder ahead of her. 

Juliet disapparated to get ahead of them, but the killers had the same idea and she appeared right as they vanished.

Juliet listened, and heard duel cracks on her right. She turned and saw the figures - both wearing battle cloaks and masks - running across the adjacent roof.

Juliet disapparated and appeared in front of them. She cast _Stupefy_ as they disappeared again.

Another series of cracks and she was on the sidewalk, running after them and shoving past people on their way home from work.

_Shit. More memories for Cass to alter._

They apparated again. Juliet did the same, miscalculated the distance, and appeared in the middle of the street. A car hit her legs. She fell backward and scraped her palms on the pavement. Cars honked and someone yelled at her to get out of the fucking road.

She got on her feet, and ran.

_Where are they?_

She listened, but she didn't hear anything. She ran down the sidewalk, disoriented.

_Shit_

_No_

They were gone.

Juliet disapparated and appeared back at the flat. Cassio stood over the dying man.

"Goddamn it," Juliet said. "I lost them."

Albert Daven was still alive - but not for much longer. Juliet knelt down and placed her hands on his head. She closed her eyes, and pulled herself inside his consciousness.

Fading light encroached on her as she pried at his thoughts; the man's mind losing oxygen. If the darkness caught her, it would pull her into death with the victim.

Juliet reached for his most recent memories, and saw the dark figures she had chased, a stove, and a counter top. Albert Daven had been in the kitchen when they grabbed him.

She couldn't make out their features with the cloaks and masks. Voices - and the same scattered words she had heard from the other side of the door - distorted as the darkness pulled at her mind. It was time to get out.

Juliet took her hands off the man's head. Albert Daven was dead.

Cassio stood over her, holding his wand. "Were you able to make out their faces?"

Juliet shook her head. "I couldn't make out a goddamn thing. I'm going to get Moody."

"Jules, wait-"

Juliet disapparated and appeared in Moody's flat in Edinburgh, tripping over the table in his kitchen where he sat eating dinner. She was covered in blood that wasn't her own.

Moody dropped his fork. "What happened?"

"Another killing."

"Where?"

"London," she said, leaning against a chair. "Not far from Kennington Station. I'm not sure if I can-"

"Don't move," Moody said, and took her arm.

_CRACK_

They appeared on a grass lawn.

"Which way?"

"I don't know," she said, "where are we?"

"Burgess Park."

"I can apparate us from here." Juliet grabbed Moody's arm before he could protest.

They appeared in Albert Daven’s flat.

Juliet lowered herself to the floor, spent from all of the apparition.

Moody looked at the body. "When?"

"We interrupted the killers ten minutes ago. Juliet chased them."

"We were so close. I lost them on the street."

"Did you see their faces?"

Juliet shook her head. "They wore battle cloaks and masks. They may have also used voice modification charms. We heard pieces of their conversation before we entered, but they were muffled and distorted on the other side of the door."

Moody looked at the body. "Did you excavate his mind?"

Juliet nodded. "He didn't see their faces either, or anything else worth a damn."

Cassio looked out the window. "How many of these muggles saw you?"

"Maybe everyone in a two block radius?"

"I'll alter memories." Cassio disapparated.

Moody looked at Juliet. "You arrived mid-kill. How did you know?"

"We’ve been monitoring police reports and scanners. The man told the London police he was being followed last night."

"The damn muggle police?"

Juliet nodded. "He called the police so he actually had a chance of someone taking him seriously."

"Not seriously enough," Moody said. "How the hell did you know he was muggle-born?"

Juliet pushed herself up and leaned against the sofa. "We've been tracking muggle-borns."

"You fucking what?"

"Just Cass and me," Juliet said. "No one else knows how to use the trace."

"Setting a trace on muggle-borns was a reckless move with the damn Commission Act. If anyone finds out what you've done-"

"You don't have to tell me," Juliet said. "Look, Cass developed the trace so we could keep tabs on our sister, Rosaline. She's been living back in the muggle world with her husband and we were worried, with her pregnant and all. So, we put a trace on her. Cass thought, why not do it for more muggle-borns to see if we could find some patterns and catch the killers? Whatever spell work Cass came up with for the trace doesn't work on wizard-borns, or even half-bloods. It made it easy to isolate people like us, so we decided to cast the trace spell over Diagon Alley and the arrivals lobby atrium a few times a week and pick up whoever we could. All we had to do next was identify people and cross-check police reports. That's how I found this man - Albert Daven. And it almost worked."

"It's a brilliant strategy," Moody said, "but if Burke or anyone else finds out what you've done-"

"We haven't told anyone apart from you, and we're not going to, but we had to do something, Moody. They are slaughtering us."

Moody looked at the body. She wasn't wrong.

Juliet stood up. They would have to find out if the victim had any friends or family in the magical community. If not, they would have to figure out what to do with his corpse, and whether or not to involve the muggles who had known him.

Moody said, "What you're doing with the trace - you're right; it almost worked."

"Before I fucked it up ten ways to hell with a damn chase gone wrong."

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Juliet. You know it won't do you any good." 

Moody summoned sheets from the dead man's linen closet and used a binding spell to wrap his corpse. "Keep at it. We will find them."

Juliet raised her wand and walked through the hole she'd made in the wall.

_Reparo_

Fractured wood framing collected itself and fused back together; plaster and insulation multiplied like bacteria.

Juliet stood over the woman she'd left unconscious on the sofa.

_Rennervate_

The woman sat up and opened her eyes. "Please, if you're going to-"

 _Obliviate_

The woman's face went blank.

"Now, you never saw me. In fact, the last thirty minutes passed without you realizing it. You were just watching the news here on the telly when you drifted off."

Juliet went to the television set and turned it on. She adjusted the channel dial until she found the BBC.

The woman looked from the screen to Juliet, dazed under the influence of the memory altering spell. "Who are you?"

Juliet managed a smile. "As far as you're concerned, I don't exist."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rosalind's name has been changed to Rosaline to match the correct spelling of the Shakespeare character, as intended. I also found a few typos here, and in the last few chapters. Those are now fixed. (11/4/2020)


	32. Transference

**May 1987**

Dumbledore avoided the students mingling in the hallways before the evening curfew. When he got to the kitchen, he tripped over a house elf and swore. The frightened creature apologized and scampered out of the way.

Dumbledore walked into the pantry. The kitchen porter - he could never remember her name - kept the bourbon she used for cooking on a shelf above the door. Dumbledore raised his hand and summoned one of the unopened bottles. It floated toward him and he took it out of the air.

He didn't bother getting a glass. He sat down at one of the preparation tables, removed the cork, and drank.

Killing Carrow hadn't stopped the murders.

Dumbledore took another drink. He wanted to forget the shadows in his mind; the dark-haired boy who admitted he could hurt people and get them to do whatever he wanted; corpses of former students - Lily and James Potter - buried in the debris of their own home; Alice and Frank Longbottom found chained to a fence in Godric's Hollow, screaming and insane; and a young wizard who took him into the woods and spoke about the greater good.

He hadn't thought of Gellert in years.

_Was there ever anything I have done right?_

He took another drink -

\- and saw the bodies of five students on the ground by the train.

More, and he saw four dead muggle-borns floating in the air above the Wizengamot dungeon.

Dumbledore's mind was a dangerous place, and he didn't want to be there anymore.

He drank until half of the bottle was gone.

He heard footsteps and looked up. Tom Riddle stood in the doorway.

Dumbledore's hand shot forward. The resulting _BANG_ bright flash of light - and force - knocked the dark-haired boy on his back.

Dumbledore stood up with electricity collected in his fists - and went after the boy on the floor. "I should have killed you myself, Tom."

Aaron threw his arms in front of his face as Dumbledore raised his hands. "I'm not Tom!"

The boy's features blurred. His long hair stuck to his forehead. His eyes and face were different.

_It's not Riddle._

_What have I done?_

Dumbledore lowered his hands. Aaron coughed and rolled on his side.

Dumbledore reached down to help the boy up. He took his arm. 

Aaron yanked himself out of Dumbledore's grasp. "Don't touch me."

_What have I done?_

"I am so very sorry."

Aaron stood up and backed away from Dumbledore.

"I thought I saw someone else," Dumbledore slurred.

He was too drunk to stand. He grabbed onto the doorway for support.

When he looked back at the entryway, the boy was gone.

_What have I done?_


	33. Something Borrowed

**July 1987**

The Three Broomsticks was quiet. Aaron sat alone at the bar with a glass of pumpkin juice, reading _The Island of Doctor Moreau_ for the third time. It was one of the books he had taken when he left Glasgow. The short paperback was tattered and worn. Pages fifty-three to sixty-four were stained with what Aaron had always hoped was tea. He didn't know. He'd found it in the gymnasium of a school he had attended for a few months when he was ten years old. The front cover had been stamped by the school library, but Aaron never got a chance to return it. His social worker had moved him - without warning - in the middle of the week - when the people he was living with decided - for whatever reason - that they were done with him.

A borrowing card was still glued to the inside of the back cover. Aaron had memorized the names and dates. The book had been in the possession of a lot of people. Like him.

_What would my borrowing card look like?_

He couldn't remember all of the people he had lived with; all of the places he'd been left; a chaotic progression of houses and flats with different furniture, dishes, and rules. He had even been placed in a group home for a few months once when a teacher told his social worker he had stopped talking. Of course he had stopped talking. He was seven years old - alone again - and he hated the school they made him attend.

A therapist blamed his behavior on his attitude instead of his lack of a stable home environment, and made him go back.

That was another reason Aaron couldn't remember all of it, he knew. He had made himself forget the places he’d lived where people had hurt him.

His social worker - Rachel - had gotten him out of situations fast when the people she left him with turned out to be abusive. She would always apologize, find him somewhere else to live, and take people to court for what they had done to him, but every time left a mark. Aaron still had a scar on his left arm from a man he had spent three weeks with when he was eight years old. And riding in cars would always make him sick.

Whatever spell Dumbledore had used on him two months ago, it wasn't the first time Aaron had been thrown on the ground.

_But it was the last time._

He turned to the Table of Contents, where he had written his social worker's contact information.

_I could tell her what happened. She could come get me._

He stared at her telephone number.

_Then what? Wait to be placed with more people who don't want me?_

_It doesn't matter. I don't belong here either._

"You're not doing school work now are ya?"

Aaron hadn't seen Hagrid come in. He looked up. "No. I needed a break from magic."

He handed the book to Hagrid.

Hagrid sat down next to him and flipped through it. "Looks like a good one. It's nice ta see ya doin' something for fun."

He handed the book back to Aaron and leaned over the bar. "Hey, Aleus, ya don't have any more of that summer punch do you?"

"I've got a whole barrel of it under the bar. No one's been here to drink it."

"I'll take a mug," Hagrid said. He turned to Aaron. "Do you want to try it? It's a little strong, but no one's here ta care if you do. And it's damn good. You've been working hard all summer. Might as well have some, if it's alright with Aleus."

Aleus set three mugs on the bar. "I won't tell."

"Yeah, all right," Aaron said.

Aleus filled the mugs. He put one in front of Hagrid, handed one to Aaron, and drank from the third.

Aaron took a drink - and coughed.

Hagrid smiled. "Good, right?"

Aaron nodded and took another drink. It was strong.

Thirty minutes later, Aleus poured Hagrid a second round. 

"Have ya heard from Charlie since school got out?"

"A few times," Aaron said.

"Charlie's a good kid. Great with animals." Hagrid turned to Aleus. "Did I tell you Aaron here helped us harvest a dragon?"

"That's messy work," Aleus said. "Well done."

"I don't think I'll ever do it again," Aaron said.

"Nonsense," Hagrid said. "You and Charlie were great at it. I was really proud of ya."

Aaron took another drink. "At least I did something right."

"None of that," Hagrid said. "I've told you before, it's alright that ya can't use magic. I can't either."

"I know." He nodded toward Hogwarts. "I'll just never belong in there with the rest of them."

"Of course you belong."

"Why? Because I can see the castle for what it is? Like that proves something?"

"It proves everything," Hagrid said. "Hogwarts is covered in enchantments and wards. Ya have ta be magical just to see past them. Same goes for the train."

"No," Aaron said, "someone made a mistake. I shouldn't be here."

"No student comes to Hogwarts by mistake, especially not you," Hagrid said. "Didn't anyone ever tell ya about what happened with the book?"

"The book?"

"There's a book in one of the towers, and an old quill,” Aleus said. “Whenever a child here in the United Kingdom does something magical, the quill tries to write down their name - as a record of magical ability. If the book doesn't think they're magical enough, it won't let the quill write the name, and the child never gets into Hogwarts. But if the book agrees, then the quill can write the name and the child is invited to attend. It's a perfect system."

"So, my name is in the book?"

"Of course it is," Hagrid said.

"Have you seen it in the book?"

"I don't need to," Hagrid said. "It was all McGonagall could talk about your First Year."

Aaron choked on his mouthful of punch. "What?"

Hagrid nodded. "Oh, yeah, she wouldn’t shut up about how she'd seen the quill write your name in the book. She was excited because it's rare ta see the quill write a name. Ya have to catch it at the exact moment a child does something magical for the first time. She actually _watched_ your name get written down. You're in the book alright."

_"Did anything happen last night? Something strange?"_

_"You're not a muggle, Aaron."_

"They never told ya?"

"No," Aaron said. "No one told me."

"I would have thought McGonagall would have told ya at least. Maybe they try ta keep it a secret." Hagrid took a drink. "You didn't hear anything from me."

Aaron wasn't sure how long they sat there. Hagrid laughed and told a story about a talking spider he said lived in the forest. Aleus claimed to be half-goblin. Aaron could see it; his pointed ears, the hooked shape of his nose, and his eyes. He was tall, but then Hagrid was short compared to a full-blooded giant.

When the barrel of punch was gone, Hagrid drained his mug and stood up. "It's late. We should get going and let Aleus here close up."

Aaron didn't realize how drunk he was until he stood up. He reached for his book, dropped it on the floor, and laughed.

Aleus smiled and said, "I see you liked the punch."

"It," it was hard to form words, "it was . . . a perfect system. Like the damn book and quill."

Aleus looked at Hagrid. Hagrid laughed. "He's fine. I'll take him home with me tonight. We won't let anyone at Hogwarts know, will we, Aaron?"

"Nope," Aaron said. He felt . . . light. He couldn't feel his face or his fingers. He’d never been this pissed before.

He followed Hagrid outside. The air was humid and the clouds hung low as they walked through Hogsmeade beneath the streetlamps.

"Hagrid, who's Tom?"

"What?"

"Who's Tom? And why does Dumbledore think he should have killed him?"

Hagrid stopped. He didn't say anything at first, then he turned and looked down at Aaron. "Dumbledore talked about Tom?"

"He . . . brought him up."

"Sometimes I forget you're muggle-born. And it's not like anyone talks about him anymore. Aaron, you know about You-Know-Who, right?"

"Yeah," he tried not to slur his words, "the dark wizard."

"That was Tom," Hagrid said. "Tom Riddle. He was here when I was a student at Hogwarts, before he became You-Know-Who. If Dumbledore talked about him like that-"

"I don't think he . . . realized I was there."

"Even so, he shouldn't be talking about You-Know-Who, not like that. He hasn't been Tom in . . . well, long before your time. Long before the war."

"Did you know him? When he was here? When he was Tom?"

"I try not ta think about him." Hagrid didn't say anything else.

They were almost to the hut - 

\- when the road wavered. Aaron watched _is that_ a dark train station platform and abandoned tracks merge with the shadows in front of him. He stopped.

But it was gone. The illusion had vanished as fast as it had appeared.

Aaron stood alone in the dark - watching the road - until Hagrid looked back, and told him to catch up.


	34. Motion Sickness

**July 1987**

Aaron woke up eight hours later on a pile of blankets in front of Hagrid's fireplace. Fang was asleep next to him; warm and heavy against his back.

Something was wrong.

Aaron sat up and choked on the bile collecting in his throat. The summer punch had been strong - and he'd had a lot of it - but that wasn't the problem.

The world had layers again.

Aaron saw the Gryffindor common room; vague outlines of the fireplace, sofas, and tables superimposed over the inside of Hagrid's hut.

He closed his eyes. And shook. It wasn't just his hands this time - his whole body shuddered.

Fang stirred and licked his face. Aaron leaned against the boarhound.

_It's fine. It will stop. I had way too much to drink last night is all._

He opened his eyes. The common room was still there, and now he saw -

_Is that a park?_

Aaron saw trees, a grass lawn, a parking lot, and crowded footpaths. People walked past him - close enough to touch.

A city street appeared next, merging with the park, the common room, and Hagrid's hut. The shifting locations overlapped and made him feel worse.

Fang whined, concerned.

_Me too, mate._

Aaron's ears rang with the sounds of voices, traffic, and Fang barking. The noises were abrasive; short clips of sound torn into microseconds and strung together.

Aaron grabbed onto Fang and tried to steady himself, but the dog pulled away from him and ran into Hagrid's bedroom.

Aaron doubled over on the floor, drooling. He covered his ears with his hands, trying to block out the noise.

Hagrid called his name, but Aaron couldn't see him. The world surrounding him had turned into a maelstrom of shifting locations, and he was lost in the cacophony.

Hagrid grabbed Aaron. The locations multiplied.

Aaron shoved himself away from Hagrid as the Forbidden Forest, a house on a muggle street, and the back room of the Hog's Head Inn layered over each other.

More places came at him. Aaron saw a bed he'd slept in five years ago, a library that wasn't the one at Hogwarts, a living room with terry cloth rugs -

\- and a red-haired man standing in a kitchen.

_It's Arthur._

_Arthur Weasley._

Then Arthur was gone, and he saw Hagrid. And the grass lawn and the parking lot. Pavement and cars coming at him. A vinyl kitchen floor. A dark platform at a train station.

Aaron shut his eyes, and heard Arthur's voice.

"Aaron, let go."

"Of what?!"

"Whatever you're holding onto."

Aaron opened his eyes, but Arthur was gone; replaced by a blurred reality of shifting locations.

Hagrid's hut. The park. The Gryffindor common room. The city street. The forest. The kitchen at Hogwarts.

Arthur. ". . . hear me? Let go."

Hagrid. ". . . ya have to . . ."

Arthur. ". . . you'll tear apart if you don't . . ."

Hagrid. ". . . be determined, I think . . ."

Traffic. Dishes colliding with counter tops. Voices. Fang barking.

It was all so loud.

"Aaron, let go."

Aaron screamed and fell forward. Space folded in on itself -

\- and pulled him through.

_CRACK_

Aaron appeared at The Burrow, retching and gasping on the tile floor.

The locations dissolved. The world stopped moving, and went quiet.

_What the fuck just happened?!_

Arthur reached for him. Aaron pushed himself away. He didn't want it to start again, and Hagrid touching him had made everything worse.

"It's alright, Aaron," Arthur said.

"No, it's not. What was that? What just happened to me?!"

"Well, the first time you use a portkey is always the worst, especially," he didn't want to say it, "if you aren't very magical. And you held on too long and ended up in both places at once. That is incredibly dangerous."

_No. I was in a lot more than two places._

Aaron shook his head. "I . . . I didn't use a portkey."

A woman with red hair came into the kitchen. She looked at Arthur and Aaron on the floor, grabbed a bucket from the cabinet beneath the sink, and ran a washcloth under the faucet. She set the bucket in front of Aaron and reached down to hold the washcloth to his forehead, but he backed away from her.

"It's alright, dear. You're safe here with us."

She held out the washcloth. Aaron took it, wiped his mouth, folded it over, and held it against his head, leaning back against the cabinets.

"I'm sorry," Aaron said. "I . . . I don’t know what happened. I don't even know where I am." 

He looked at Arthur. "Is this your house?"

"Yes," Arthur said. "And this is my wife, Molly."

"I don't understand. How did I get here?"

"You probably found a portkey and didn't realize it."

"Don't be ridiculous, Arthur. There's not a portkey to our house at Hogwarts. He apparated."

"From Hogwarts? He couldn't have," Arthur said, "not with the wards."

Aaron grabbed the bucket and threw up. His vomit was the same color as the summer punch.

Bill walked into the kitchen. "Aaron? What are you doing here?"

He wished he knew.

"He apparated," Molly said.

"But he's never been here."

"I know," Molly said, "but he did it all the same."

"He couldn't have," Bill said, "not with the wards at Hogwarts. It had to be a portkey."

"That's what I said."

Aaron wiped his mouth. "It wasn't a portkey. I was at Hagrid's and I woke up sick. And I could . . . see places. Like the world was layered over itself. It kept getting worse. I saw all of these places I didn't even recognize. I think I was _in_ all of them. At the same time."

"You saw other places _before_ you appeared here? Places you've never been to?"

Aaron nodded.

"That's not a portkey," Arthur said.

"That doesn't even sound like apparition," Bill said.

The Gryffindor common room merged with the Weasleys' kitchen.

_Shit, no. There's the park again, too. And the street with the cars._

Aaron said, "It's happening again."

"You see the . . . layers?"

Aaron nodded.

"Focus," Arthur said. "You have to be deliberate and determined. If you apparate without control, you could kill yourself."

"Or lose a leg," Bill said.

"I'm not trying to apparate," Aaron said. "I'm deliberately trying not to."

"But you still see all of the places?"

The park. The Gryffindor common room. Hagrid's hut. A sink and a stained mirror. A tent in the woods. The house in Glasgow with terry cloth rugs.

Aaron nodded. His body shook - no, it _vibrated -_ pulled between multiple locations.

It took everything he had to hold onto the tile floor.

The city street. Dumbledore's office. A well-lit bakery. A brick wall covered with barbed wire.

He couldn't fight it anymore.

_CRACK_

Aaron collapsed on the floor in the Gryffindor common room.

It wasn't over.

_CRACK_

He appeared inside a bedroom he'd slept in when he was nine years old. No one was there.

Another jump and he appeared in front of the payphone Arthur had used to call Molly three years ago.

_It's not going to stop._

_CRACK_

He appeared in a graveyard with iron gates and a statue of Death.

_Be deliberate. Be determined._

_But I can't pick my destination._

Aaron tried to get himself back to the Weasleys' kitchen - or the Gryffindor common room - or Hagrid's; anyplace familiar. 

It wasn't an option. He didn't have any control over where he ended up.

_CRACK_

Aaron fell onto an abandoned train station platform and rolled onto his stomach, shaking and exhausted.

He looked up. Two faded utility lights flickered above the dark tracks in front of him.

_Wait._

This place _was_ familiar. It was the same train platform he had seen last night on the road between Hogsmeade and Hagrid's hut.

The stale air smelled like a dead animal.

Aaron pushed himself up on his hands and knees -

\- and saw a severed, decomposed head.

Aaron screamed and shoved himself away from it, but there was more. A decayed body was chained to the column in front of him. The blood covering the platform around it had congealed a long time ago. 

Aaron dry-heaved and covered his mouth and nose with his arm.

He backed away from the corpse as the Weasleys' kitchen layered over the platform. Aaron pulled himself into the illusion - 

\- and appeared in front of Arthur, Molly, and Bill. 

He grabbed onto the counter by the sink as his body blurred. "Make it stop!"

Molly raised her wand. " _Stupefy_!"

The world went dark.


	35. Traced

**July 1987**

Alastor Moody stepped out of a fireplace at The Ministry of Magic, walked through the empty arrivals lobby atrium, and took the staircase down to the second floor. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement was all but abandoned; rows of desks sat empty, and most of the lamps weren't lit.

Moody shoved Adelaide Burke's office door open and tossed the summons she had sent him on her desk.

"What's so damn urgent?"

"It's nice to see you, too, Alastor."

"Don't waste my time," Moody said. "You wanted me, so here I am."

Adelaide stood up and raised her wand. A map of the United Kingdom lifted off her desk and floated in the air between them. Pinpricks of red light covered the country like a spreading virus.

"If you made me come all the way here to discuss a bunch of underage wizards using magic-"

"It isn't that simple," Adelaide said.

"Yes, it is. Send out the owls, expel the students, and bring them before the Wizengamot. It's the same every summer. More instances of law breaking shouldn't change the protocol."

Adelaide shook her head. "These aren't instances from multiple underage witches and wizards over the summer. These are all hits from the same trace signature. They appeared in rapid succession this morning. It took less than twenty minutes for those lights to fill the map."

Moody waved his wand. Time stamps appeared next to each of the red dots.

 _They apparated._ It was the only way to cover so much distance that fast.

_Dozens of times. In front of muggles, no doubt._

"Whoever this is," Moody said, "they are begging for expulsion."

"The trace signature belongs to Aaron Stone," Adelaide said. "He just completed his third year at Hogwarts. I'm past the point of expelling him, or sending an owl. I want him arrested."

"So, go arrest him."

"I can't. All of his jumping around has interfered with his trace. I don't know where he ended up after his trek across the country. I sent Cassio and Edward out to start checking these locations - and alter muggle memories - but they haven't found him yet. And I can't pull any more Aurors off their assignments to find a kid."

"What is it you think I do all day?"

"Maybe if you reported to me with any regularity, I would know. You never exactly told me when you decided to come out of retirement. I had to hear about it from Juliet."

Moody ignored her and studied the map. The underage trace was flawed; it had been since they started using it on students in the late sixteen hundreds. It didn't detect instances when an underage witch or wizard used magic in a magical home, or within the limits of a registered magical town. The only time it activated with any accuracy was when the target used magic in a muggle area. The limitation made it harder to track the use of underage magic than The Ministry wanted to admit.

"Have you told Dumbledore about this? It's one of his damn students."

"No one knows where Dumbledore is. Minerva told me he hasn't been at Hogwarts since May, and he hasn't shown up at the Wizengamot since long before that."

"How far have Edward and Cassio gotten on these locations?"

"By now, they're probably in Manchester."

"I'll start with the last location and work backward."

"I appreciate your help. Please bring him in as soon as you find him. If he can apparate like this without killing himself, I don't want to take any chances and lose him again."

"I'll be sure to drag him right to your desk, if that will make you feel better."

Moody left Adelaide's office, walked down the hall to the armory, and bypassed the wards securing the room. He scanned the shelves - stacks of folded battle cloaks - various types of masks - enchanted trench clubs that had been used during the war - and grabbed a pair of heavy iron shackles.

* * *

Both sides of the tunnel that led to the abandoned Underground station had been encased in concrete. Moody had to break into a utility bunker and walk a quarter mile beneath the city to find the right access door.

_How the hell did he even get down here?_

The smell of decay hit Moody as soon as he stepped onto the platform.

_Lumos_

It didn't take him long to find Marcus Carrow's decomposed body.


	36. Along for the Ride

**July 1987**

Moody stepped through the window of Purge and Dowse, LTD; into the lobby of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. He walked past the reception desk - and the Welcome Witch - and met Hagrid by the lifts.

Hagrid looked at the shackles Moody carried and grabbed him by the arm. "Now, wait a damn minute. When I told ya he was here, you said he wouldn't be arrested. He can't control his appariting."

"It's a precaution," Moody said. "Where is he?"

Hagrid shook his head. "I'm not takin' ya to see him 'til you tell me ya won't arrest him."

"I'm not going to arrest him, Hagrid. Let go of me."

Hagrid released Moody. "He's a kid learning how ta use magic, not a criminal."

"Where is he?"

"It's not like he knew how to-"

"Where is he, Hagrid? I can find him with or without you."

Hagrid called the lift. "At first, they thought he'd been jinxed, so they took him to the fourth floor."

"He wasn't, was he?"

"As far as they can tell, no."

Moody followed Hagrid into the lift. The doors closed behind them.

Hagrid said, "It's not right. After all this time where he couldn't do no magic at all and now his first time he can't control it."

"First time? Adelaide said he was a damn Third Year."

"Aaron's never been able ta do magic."

"And now, what, he can't stop doing it?"

"Doesn't seem he can, no, at least not the appariting. Haven't tried getting him ta do anything else. And it's not like anyone ever taught him how to apparate. He can't get a handle on it."

"Of course not. He's a damn Third Year."

The lift passed the second and third floors. It struggled with Hagrid's bulk.

"I felt terrible, seeing him on my floor like that. I thought I let him have too much to drink. He looked so damn sick. It took me a minute ta realize he was appariting."

"He was at your hut?"

"Well, yeah, that's where all of this started. I thought he was gonna kill himself the way his body was-"

"He disapparated from _Hogwarts_?"

"He did, yeah."

"He shouldn't have been able to do that. Not with the wards."

The lift doors opened. Arthur and Molly stood in the hallway.

Molly saw the shackles. "Don't arrest him, Alastor. They've finally got him sedated."

"I won't arrest him, Molly."

"Honest to Merlin, the boy couldn't control it," Arthur said. "It was like in 1978, when Ezra McCallen couldn't stop levitating. It's not a criminal act; it's a magical aliment."

"What room is he in?"

"You can't see him until they figure out what's causing this."

"Molly, if you don't tell me where he is, I'll walk into every damn room on this floor until I find him."

"Can you promise me you won't take him to The Ministry until he's got the apparition under control?"

"I won't take him to the damn Ministry."

Molly didn't move.

"I'm not going to arrest him, Molly. I'm going to teach him how to apparate."

"We've tried that already," Arthur said. "The healers tried, too. What he's doing isn't like normal apparition. It's . . . "

"Aggressive," Molly said, "and unstable."

"I have a lot of experience with unstable witches and wizards. I want a few minutes alone with him. That’s all.”

"Very well. He's in four oh eight," Molly said. "Now, if he apparates, he won't have any control over where he ends up. It could be hours before we find him again. And he could kill himself doing it the way he is."

Moody held up the shackles. "That's why I brought these."

He walked past Hagrid - and the Weasleys - and took the hallway to Room 408.

There were two beds. A woman in her sixties slept in the one by the door. Her face was covered with green boils that leaked puss. She snored through her open mouth. 

A dark-haired boy was in the bed by the window.

Moody stopped. The boy's features looked familiar, but he couldn't place them.

He stood over the bed and raised his wand. " _Rennervate_."

The boy opened his eyes.

"Aaron Stone?"

"Yes?"

Aaron was exhausted. He didn't lift his head.

_He's just a kid. A damn Third Year._

"I'm Alastor Moody. I'm an Auror with The Department of Magical Law Enforcement. You've been appariting all over the United Kingdom. You know about the underage wizarding laws, I assume?"

"I know. I can't-"

"How did you disapparate from Hogwarts?"

"I don't know."

"I know you didn't break the wards."

"No."

"But here you are."

"The wards didn't stop me."

"So, what, you just started appariting once you realized they were down? Did you figure out you could disapparate from Hogwarts and decide to have some fun while everyone was gone for the summer? Did you think no one would notice?"

"No," Aaron said. He pushed himself up and leaned against the pillows. "I can't control it."

"That part's true enough. You lost control all over England and Scotland. You lit up The Ministry trace alerts like a fucking Christmas tree. How long did it take you to realize you're shit at apparition before you stopped trying to get back inside Hogwarts?"

"I wasn't trying to get back inside Hogwarts. I was trying to stop appariting. I was seeing all of these places and my damn body was being torn apart. If I didn't apparate-"

"What? You'd die?"

Aaron looked at the shackles. Moody set them on an empty chair by the window.

"That's what apparition does when you use it like you did," Moody said. "The farther you go, the more energy it takes. And you were jumping clear across the country. Multiple times."

Aaron said, "I kept trying to stop."

_Where the hell have I seen his face before?_

"How did you get inside the Underground station?"

The boy's hands shook. "I don't know."

"You must have been down there before."

"No," Aaron said, "never."

"That's not how apparition works."

"I know. I wrote a bloody report on it."

"Tell me about the Underground station, and the body I found."

"I don't know how it got there."

"That rotten corpse was all that was left of an execution."

"I didn't kill anyone."

"Not recently, you didn't. The body was far too decomposed for that. Did you apparate it there?"

"What? No."

Aaron's body shook. It was subtle - like his skin was vibrating.

_No. He's not shaking. He's appariting._

"It's happening again, isn't it?"

Aaron nodded and closed his eyes. 

"When you did your report on apparition, do you remember what you're supposed to do?"

"None of it works. All the destinations layer over each other and I'm pulled into whichever one decides to grab me first."

" _All_ the destinations? How many are there?"

"I don't know. I can't pick one and be deliberate about it when they're all forcing their way down my throat."

"Then focus on the other part. Be determined."

"Be determined to what? To make it stop?"

Aaron winced and reached for his ears. Moody grabbed his shoulder. Aaron lost his grip on the room and vanished, pulling Moody with him.

They appeared in Dumbledore's office. Aaron shoved himself away from Moody.

"No, you don't." Moody took Aaron's arm as the room collapsed around them.

_CRACK_

They appeared in the Gryffindor common room, disappeared and landed on the floor in the Three Broomsticks. Another jump and they were in a park.

Before Moody could worry about who saw them, they vanished -

\- and appeared in a familiar kitchen. Aaron held onto the table to keep himself upright.

"How the hell did you get us here?"

"I don't know," Aaron said. "I don't know where here is."

"We're in my flat. In Edinburgh."

"It was one of the layers."

"Get us back to Hogwarts. I need to make sure the damn wards haven't been compromised."

"I can't-"

"Yes, you can. Focus."

"No, I can't-"

"Think of the details and use them to ground yourself; the suits of armor in the corridors and the way the Potions classroom smells."

Aaron shook his head. "I can't with all the other locations shifting-"

"You've gone there for three years. You _know_ Hogwarts. Don't stand here and tell me you can't-"

Space folded and pulled them through.

_CRACK_

They appeared in The Great Hall.

Moody laughed. "You did it."

He let go of Aaron's arm, took out his wand, and checked the wards.

They were still in-place.

_How is he doing it?_

Aaron staggered. Moody caught him before he hit the floor.

Moody tried to disapparate, but he couldn't. The wards stopped him.

"Aaron, get us back to St. Mungo's."

Aaron's eyes rolled to the back of his head.

_Bloody hell._

He'd have to use a damn fireplace.


	37. Restraints

**July 1994**

The limited length of chain that secured the iron shackle pulled hard on Aaron's shoulder, but he was in too much pain to stay on his feet. He leaned against the concrete wall and closed his eyes. The potions Pomfrey had given him that morning - to numb the unpleasant sensations associated with having severed off his own arm - had lost their strength hours ago, and Alastor Moody's head was still submerged in the pensieve.

The first time the old Auror had used iron to restrict his movements, Aaron had at least been able to remove it at will.

_Was that five years ago?_

_No._

_It was SEVEN years ago._

He still wasn't sure how Moody had gotten him back to St. Mungo's after he'd collapsed at Hogwarts. He had woken up in his hospital bed two hours later, wearing an iron shackle that had been de-coupled from its counterpart.

Moody sat in a chair next to him. "That should stop you from going anywhere. We use iron to ground witches and wizards when we arrest them; to keep them from appariting. You shouldn't be able to travel through space as long as you've got that on."

Aaron waited to see the locations - for saliva to coat the inside of his mouth - to start shaking - but he felt fine, and reality remained stable.

"It's working," he told Moody.

"I'm glad, but that shackle isn't a long-term solution. We need to find out why your body won't stay in one damn place."

Moody's head shot out of the pensieve. He looked at Aaron. "Is he still alive?"

Aaron didn't have to ask who he was talking about. "Yes."

"If I knew that deranged sociopath was alive-"

Moody stuck his head back in the basin, and Aaron tried to keep himself from passing out.


	38. The Daily Prophet - 4 August, 1987

**_BODY FOUND IN UNDERGROUND CONFIRMED TO BE CARROW'S_**

_The Department of Magical Law Enforcement has confirmed that the body removed from an abandoned Underground station in London last week belonged to Marcus Carrow. The decomposed state of the corpse indicates that Carrow's death occurred some time ago, likely when he went missing from his home last summer. Adelaide Burke also stated that the appearance of Carrow's remains - the way his body had been found decapitated and chained to a column - confirms that he was the victim of foul play. However, similar to the string of now confirmed muggle-born killings, and last summer's attack on the Hogwarts Express, the Aurors are not believed to have any leads._

_Carrow is survived by his wife, Emily, and their children, Rhodus and Amelia._


	39. Sideshow

**August 1987**

The aromas of popcorn and candy floss mixed with shouts and carousel music in the summer air. Maddison took a bite of her candied apple, grabbed Eni's hand, and guided her down the midway, dodging the crowds and lines of people waiting to play ring toss.

"Look at all of them."

"It is a bit crowded," Eni said.

"That's not what I mean though," Maddison said. "All of these people have no idea there's another world out there."

"We didn't know magic was real either."

Maddison shrugged. "Well, it is, and we do. I suppose there's no going back now."

They got in line for the Ferris wheel and stood in front of a sign stating the height requirement. Maddison took a handful of popcorn out of the box Eni carried. A few of the pieces fell on the ground between them, mixing with trampled grass, cigarette ends, and chewing gum wrappers.

It was almost their turn to board the ride when she looked up. "Blow me down!"

Maddison left the line, ran up to a boy on the midway, and embraced him; laughing.

She waved back at Eni. "Come over here!"

Eni gave up her spot and joined them.

"Eni, this is David. Our fathers work together."

"We used to be neighbors, too, until Maddison's parents moved to Stretford."

Eni didn't like the way the older boy looked at Maddison.

A second boy walked up to them. "I saw you ladies in line for the Ferris wheel."

"This is James," David said. "We were going to have a go at some of the games, but a ride could be fun."

"Come on, then," Maddison said. "We can all share a car."

She took David's hand and led him back to the line. Eni - and James - followed them.

Maddison leaned against David. David's hand drifted to Maddison's waist, then went lower.

James tried to put his arm around Eni. She shoved him. "Don't touch me."

"Eni, what's wrong?"

"I don't know him. I don't want him touching me."

"I just thought you looked a bit cold is all," James said.

"Yes, out here in the twenty-seven degree weather."

"Eni, it's alright."

"No, it's not. Tonight was supposed to be fun. It wasn't supposed to be about getting felt up by some arseholes."

"We're not arseholes," David said. "We're just trying to have a bit of fun, too."

"Come on, Eni. Relax."

Eni shoved the box of popcorn into Maddison's hands and left the line.

"Eni, come on, don't be cross! Come back!"

Eni ignored her and walked down the midway, stepping over large black cables that stretched between the rides. She ignored the hawkers and the gypsy boys selling flowers.

_They ARE arseholes._

It took Eni a few minutes to realize she was being followed. She looked up. An owl was perched on the string of lights above her head; a line of bare bulbs that hung between the Tilt-A-Whirl and the Gravitron. Something was tied to its leg.

Eni ducked behind a game booth. The owl landed on the ground in front of her.

She knelt down, took the letter off its leg, unrolled the parchment, and saw Aaron's handwriting.

_I should have written you back sooner. It's just, well, I left Hogwarts rather suddenly and I forgot._

_You did leave Road to Ruin in the kitchen with your apron. I've got it in my trunk. If you want it, I can ask Hagrid to send it to you in Manchester._

_Don't worry when I tell you this, but I'm at St. Mungo's. I'm sick, or, at least, that's what they keep telling me. I stayed out with Hagrid late one night and had a lot to drink. When I woke up the next morning, I could . . . see places. I thought I was going mental, but it finally happened; I used magic. I apparated. Multiple times. I couldn't stop appariting. I ended up at Charlie's house and his mum had to knock me out. No one wants to watch me kill myself, or scare muggles, so I'm stuck in the hospital until they figure out why it's happening, or until I learn how to control it._

_I hope your summer is going better than mine. I'll see you when school starts, if they let me out of here._

_I'll be fine. Don't worry. I just thought I should tell you._

He said not to worry, but Eni did. She tucked the letter into her pocket and walked back down the midway; toward the Ferris wheel.

Maddison, David, and James had just gotten off the ride. They laughed and went behind the funhouse.

Eni followed them. Maddison leaned against the back wall of the amusement structure while David lit a cigarette. He handed it to Maddison. She took it, inhaled, and tried to hide her cough.

Eni walked up to them. "I'm going home."

"Do you need money for cab fare or something?"

"I don’t want money. I just wanted to make sure you're alright."

"I'm fine," Maddison said. She eyed the parchment sticking out of Eni's shorts. "Did you get an owl? Who wrote you?"

"Aaron. He's sick."

"Aaron's sick?"

"He's in the hospital."

"What happened?"

Eni looked at the boys and whispered, "He used magic. Something went wrong."

"That figures," Maddison said, "did he hurt himself?"

"No. He sounded alright apart from-"

"Do we have to keep talking about it then? I want to have one night where I don't have to think about anything related to Hogwarts."

James laughed. " _Hogwarts_? What the hell is Hogwarts?"

Maddison exhaled a mouthful of smoke and glared at him. "It's nothing to you."

She looked back at Eni. "If you stay, David has a car. He can give us a ride home."

"No, I want to leave now."

"Well, I'm not ready."

James and David stood too close to them. Eni took Maddison's arm and pulled her back to the midway; away from the boys. "Just come home with me, alright?"

"No, Eni. I'm staying out. Why are you acting like this? Are you jealous?"

"What? No."

"That's what all of this has been about. You're jealous that I like David."

"I am not."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I just want to-"

"You wish I liked you that way."

Eni grabbed the cigarette out of Maddison's mouth, inhaled, and left her standing on the midway alone; coughed and flicked the end on the ground somewhere between the carnival and Stretford.


	40. Homecoming

**October 1987**

The stone fireplace in the Gryffindor common room hadn't been connected to the Floo Network since the end of the fourteenth century, but an allowance had been granted for a one-way trip. Aaron had never consciously traveled by floo powder. He wasn't prepared for the abrupt end to his journey, and landed hard on the hearth.

He pushed himself off the floor, wiped soot off his face, and headed for the stairwell.

The dormitory was empty. Aaron opened the trunk at the end of his bed, grabbed the first clean shirt he saw, and took off the one that smelled like the disinfectant potions and cleaning spells they used at St. Mungo's.

He was starving. He hadn't been able to stomach the liver and squash the hospital had served for lunch, and he'd missed dinner when Dumbledore showed up - without warning - and arranged for him to go back to Hogwarts.

Aaron looked at the clock. If he hurried, he could catch the end of the evening meal service. He pulled on the clean shirt and headed for The Great Hall.

He walked through the heavy oak doors a few minutes later; into the familiar chaos of clanging dishes and a hundred different conversations. 

The Gryffindor table was loud and crowded. Charlie saw him and waved him over. Aaron sat down between him and Bill.

"Bloody hell. I didn't know you were coming back tonight."

"I didn't either."

"How are you feeling? Did they figure it out, or do you still have to wear the-"

Aaron raised his arm. The shackle slid down to his elbow. "I still can't control it."

"Damn. Are you alright?"

"I'm glad I'm not stuck in that hospital anymore."

Eni came up behind Aaron and threw her arms around his neck. "I didn't think they'd ever let you out."

Aaron hugged her back. "They didn't want to. They still can't figure out what the hell is wrong with me."

Eni sat down between him and Bill. "Then why did they let you leave?"

"Because Dumbledore came and told them I’m missing too much of the school year. He’s right. I'm behind enough as it is."

"He should have done that weeks ago," Charlie said. "Mum and Dad wanted to check you out, but they wouldn't let them. They said it had to be your legal guardian or some rubbish like that. Dad almost altered some papers of yours he said he has."

"It's alright. I appreciate that they tried." He'd have to send Arthur and Molly another letter.

Aaron reached for a platter of roast beef. Bill handed it to him, along with a bowl of potatoes. Aaron loaded his plate and grabbed a roll out of the basket in front of Eni.

"Wotcher, Aaron!" Tonks pushed her way between him and Charlie. "You don't look so bad considering the shit food they have at St. Mungo's."

It felt good to be back.

Tonks took a roll from the basket as Aaron finished telling them what happened. "If Dumbledore broke you out, does that mean he's back?"

"He hasn't been here?"

Tonks shook her head.

"He didn't come back with me. He literally just handed me floo powder and pointed me toward a fireplace."

"He's been acting right strange for a while now," Tonks said.

"That's an understatement," Aaron said.

He hadn’t told her – or anyone – about the night he found Dumbledore drunk in the kitchen. The old wizard seemed to have forgotten what happened, too. When Dumbledore had walked up to him in the hallway at St. Mungo's, Aaron had almost ripped off the shackle and taken his chances with uncontrolled apparition to get away from the man.

A rat darted across the table. A startled Gryffindor girl screamed. Charlie grabbed the rodent and tucked it into his robe.

Aaron stared at him. "Did you just stuff a rat in your pocket, or have I actually gone mental?"

"It's Percy's," Charlie said. "I told Mum and Dad not to get him a pet. Percy has never been good with animals. He's not taking care of it."

Percy was at the far end of the table, looking beneath the benches. Charlie got his attention and took the rat out of his robe.

Percy walked up to his brother with his hands outstretched. "Give me Scabbers."

"You named him?"

"What of it?"

"I didn't think you cared enough to, considering how often you lose him. You have to be more careful."

"You're not Dad, Charlie. Stop telling me what to do."

"Take better care of your rat."

Scabbers went limp. "Merlin's ball sack, what have you done to him?"

"It's not me! He's does that all on his own."

"Randomly falls asleep?"

Charlie studied the rat. Its little stomach moved up and down in a concerning rhythm. "I'm going to hang onto him for a bit and make sure you haven't cursed him."

"I didn't curse him! He just falls asleep a lot is all."

Charlie tucked Scabbers back into his robe. "Sure. Because that's normal."

"I'm writing Mum about this."

"Go ahead."

Percy stomped away from them with his arms folded across his chest.

Charlie looked at Bill. "Was I this difficult as a First Year?"

Bill swallowed his mouthful of roast beef. "You? Not at all. Percy's always been a right dolt. It makes me wish the twins were here instead."

Charlie shook his head and stabbed a piece of chicken with his fork. "Let’s not get crazy. I don't think anyone is ready for them just yet."


	41. Class Notes

**December 1987**

The corridors were crowded. Eni dodged students until she found Aaron standing in the hallway next to the Charms classroom.

She took the training wand out of her satchel and handed it to him. "You should just keep this. It's yours."

"It's not, and you need it, too."

"I'll ask Flitwick if he has a spare."

"I asked McGonagall. She told me it was 'time I bought a wand more accustomed to my character and developing talents' and left it at that."

"You have been a lot more consistent."

Aaron shrugged. "It still comes and goes. I'll buy a wand. I just wanted to make sure it will get used before I spend the money."

"If I start working, I can save for my own, and we can both stop using a wand that doesn't align with either of our traits."

"You should talk to McGonagall. There's plenty of work. You already spend most of your time in the kitchen, might as well get paid for it."

Eni had to get to Herbology. "I'll ask her about it at dinner. See you in Potions."

Aaron walked into First Year Charms and took his usual seat at the back of the room. He had felt better about his life when he’d been a First Year taking Second Year classes, or a Second Year taking Third and Fourth Year classes. It was harder to be fifteen, behind, and surrounded by overeager students half his size who had a lot more experience using magic.

Flitwick closed the door and started his lecture. Aaron opened _The Standard Book of Spells_ to the page where they'd left off on Tuesday.

The boy next to him dug through his satchel, frantic.

_What's his name?_

_David? Dean?_

The boy's quill and parchment were out, but not his inkpot. Aaron slid his across the table. "Here. Use mine."

"Oh, thanks!"

_Shit, no, his name's Daniel._

Daniel dipped his quill in Aaron's inkpot, pulled it out too fast, and splattered droplets across the table between them. He gasped and tried to wipe up the mess with the hem of his robe.

Aaron took out the training wand.

_Let's see if today is better than yesterday._

" _Tergeo_ ," Aaron said, and waved the wand over the spilled ink. Almost half of it siphoned itself into the air and dissolved.

_Not bad!_

Daniel spent the next twenty minutes glancing nervously at Aaron while he took notes.

"What?"

"Can . . . can you really apparate wherever you want?"

"No."

"But I heard-"

"People talk a lot."

Daniel leaned closer to Aaron. "How do you do it?"

Flitwick eyed them. Aaron didn't want a First Year to know how much he had to pay attention. He leaned forward until his shackle stuck out beneath his sleeve. "If you keep talking in class, I will apparate you to the middle of the Forbidden Forest and leave you there."

Daniel backed away from him.

Flitwick had gotten to the practical part of his lecture. "Everyone take a block of wood from the basket. There, you got it, pass it around. Does everyone have one? Good! Now, raise your wands and repeat after me. _Colovaria_!"

The First Years yelled the charm back with enthusiasm. Aaron muttered the word under his breath and flicked the wand. Nothing happened.

All around the room younger students recited the incantation and waved their wands; excited and capable.

 _You have to embrace it_ , Charlie had told him.

_Fine._

" _Colovaria_!" Aaron said it so loud his voice made Daniel jump. But he _felt_ something.

The block of wood turned a darker shade of brown. Then, it turned black.

Professor Flitwick saw Aaron's block. "Well done! Well done!"

_I'm doing it. I'm using magic._

Aaron was so excited, he did it again. " _Colovaria_!"

The block took its time, but it turned blue. Aaron laughed.

_I'm NOT a damn muggle._

He wanted to run down the halls and turn every fucking thing a different color.

Tonks found him when he left Charms. "Aaron! Have you got a partner for the sparing practical in Defense Against the Dark Arts yet?"

"No. Why? Do you want to do it with me?"

"Of course!"

"I don't know. I can't cast most of the dueling spells we've learned to save my life."

"So, I'll help you with them," Tonks said. "Come on. It will be fun."

"Until you maim me."

"I won't maim you."

Charlie walked up to them. "Have either of you seen Percy?"

"He was in Transfiguration this morning," Aaron said. "What did he do now?"

"I told him he could use my broom for flying lessons if he put it back where it belongs. He hasn't been putting it back. I'm going to kill him if he does it again. I've got Quidditch practice in an hour and I can't find it. I can only _Accio_ so many times before I lose my damn mind."

Rhodus came around the corner. Aaron stiffened. 

No one knew he was the one who had found Marcus Carrow's corpse in the abandoned Underground station. Moody had used a gag charm to keep him from talking about it with anyone who wasn't an employee of The Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but the decomposed body was all Aaron thought of when he saw Rhodus or Amelia in the hallways. 

He'd never forget the way Carrow's remains smelled; rotten flesh chained to a column in the dark.

Rhodus walked past them. He'd always been tall and broad. Like his father.


	42. Remnants

**February 1988**

Alice Longbottom sat alone on the far side of the room; silent and unresponsive in a chair by the window. She'd been given an assortment of potions to keep her subdued during visiting hours; to keep her from screaming.

Dumbledore watched her husband's face transform from awareness to uncertainty as he paced between a table and a sofa. Frank's damaged mind was lost in the details of his surroundings, and every change of expression broke Dumbledore's heart.

Frank stopped and stood in front of him. "I have a son. Have I told you about my son?"

The nervous boy had been at the hospital two hours earlier with his grandmother. It had taken Frank the first twenty minutes of their visit to recognize his own features in the child's face; to realize that this was his son. In the time it took him to smile and reach for Neville, confusion overrode his senses once more, and Frank forgot who the child in his arms was.

"He is a good boy," Frank said. "I carry him around the house on my shoulders and he always-"

Frank sat down on the sofa. "Do I know you?"

"I am a friend."

"I do feel as though we have met before."

"We have met many times," Dumbledore said.

Frank looked at the old man's face. "I know your eyes, but I'm afraid they're lost beneath a layer of years."

Dumbledore smiled. "As are we all."

A healer assistant walked up to them. Dumbledore nodded at her. It was time for him to leave.

The woman took Frank's hand and escorted him out of the room.

Dumbledore had promised himself he would come whenever he could, but it had been five years since he had seen Frank and Alice Longbottom. He had promised himself so many things.

Dumbledore took the lift to the first floor and found his way to the lobby. A young witch sat in a chair by the reception desk, reading _The Daily Prophet._ Marcus Carrow's face was on the front page. The Aurors still didn't have any leads.

_How did they ever even find his body?_

He should have destroyed it. He'd been careless.

And it had all been for nothing.

_If not Marcus, who should I have chained to that column?_


	43. Misled

**March 1988**

Nick sucked on the end of the cigarette between his fingers until the flame caught. He inhaled hard, shoved the lighter in his pocket, and took a few steps around the enclosed back parking lot. It had been a long set and - on his way out the door - James told him they weren't getting paid.

_Fuck this whole bloody night._

It was three in the morning. James was still inside, listening to the next band and nodding his head like a fucking idiot. James didn't care whether or not they got paid. He had family money. It wasn't the same for Nick. He hadn't eaten in two days. This wasn't a game for him.

 _They all told me to get a real fucking job._ He flicked the end of his cigarette. _They were all right._

This _had_ been a real job – a fucking steady job that had gone on for almost two years. But the gigs had dropped off and the venues had stopped calling. He should have seen it coming, but he decided to ignore the end of their short-lived success and keep riding the high of the last few shows they had managed to book, lying to himself about how good they were.

Nick's ears still rang from their set. The steady hum mixed with the noise from the group occupying the stage. They sounded like shit. The crowd yelled and screamed for them anyway. He didn't see what all the fuss was about, but he bet they were getting paid.

_This whole fucking warehouse is a shit place to play anyhow. Shit lighting. Shit acoustics. Shit underage kids with fake IDs shoving each other in the crowd and trying to prove something after their wanker parents dropped them off._

Nick finished his cigarette and tossed it on the pavement. It was cold for March. The thought of walking back through the warehouse and back to the Underground made him sick. He didn't want to see James and he didn't want to push his way through the crowds.

And he didn't have to.

Nick made sure he was still alone –

_CRACK_

\- and appeared inside a tunnel covered with graffiti four miles away from the venue. The abrasive sound of the air he'd displaced made the ringing in his ears worse.

He didn't think anyone had seen him, at least. The tunnel was empty.

Nick shoved his hands in his coat pockets and walked to the building he would call home tonight. He would have apparated right into the three-room flat, but Lane might still be awake, and he didn't want to scare him. Lane was a muggle, but he was a good muggle. A muggle who'd given him a place to stay for a few weeks.

It was alright. He only had a few blocks left to go. _At least magic got me this far._

He laughed at the joke. This was exactly where magic had gotten him; broke, homeless, and starving, living on sofas and floors. No one at Hogwarts had told him the truth; the magical world was full of shit. After six years of study, Professor Sprout looked at his marks and told him - if he worked a little harder - he could get hired on to do inventory work at one of the shops in town or clean up owl shit for a delivery service. What wonderful opportunities. He could make ten Sickles an hour. Maybe more, if he got really serious about it and spent his last year bent over a few books in the library.

Ten bloody Sickles.

That was the problem with Hogwarts. Every damn student there thought they would graduate and become an Auror, play Quidditch professionally, or breed dragons on some mountainside in Hungary. The truth was that it took a lot of work to be an Auror, Quidditch teams started scouting at the Third Year level - two years before Nick had even joined his house team, and no one bred dragons unless they were born into a family that had done so for generations. Nick sure hadn't been born into magic, and he'd never cared about his grades. Who the fuck was going to care if he got Outstanding marks in Divination?

No one in the real world, that was for damn sure. After completing an education in which the core curriculum had focused on the study of obscure plants, the alignment of the stars, and how to defend himself against the occasional Boggart, he was shit at anything that could have made him actual money. His parents had tried to warn him. Magic is a waste of time. You'll end up with no practical life skills if you stay at that damn school.

He hated that they had been right. And that they insisted on making him feel even more shit about it every time he went home.

Aren't you a wizard now? Can't you make money appear? Can't you use magic to get yourself a nice flat? Can't you control someone's mind and make them offer you a job? Can't you make potions and sell them for a profit?

No. Nick couldn't do any of those things. That wasn't how magic worked.

Thank Christ James had called and Nick had kept up with the drums while he was at Hogwarts.

He took out another cigarette. It was his last one. His lighter was out of fluid now, too, and he didn't have his wand on him.

_Fuck everything about tonight._

Nick stopped on a street corner. A woman walked up next to him. He noticed her arse first. It was a great arse. She had long legs and wore torn stockings filled with holes. Her top was loose. He bet his last cigarette she wasn't wearing a bra.

The woman looked at the chewed fag he held between his lips, took out a lighter, and flicked the flint wheel. She held the flame up between them. "Need a light?"

Nick wanted more than a light. He leaned into the fire she offered him.

"Do you live around here?"

"Sometimes," Nick said, inhaling.

She looked him up and down. "Fancy a night back at mine then?"

 _Holy shit_. Nick shrugged. "If you'd like."

The woman leaned against him and bit his ear. "I like."

This was happening. Maybe she even had food at her place.

Nick laughed and threw his arm around the woman. "Where do you live, love?"

"Two blocks from here," she said. "Are you clean?"

"Very," Nick said, though he couldn't imagine what he smelled like after sweating through the show and chain smoking for two days to keep his stomach from cramping.

 _Is she working? Will I have to pay after?_ He didn't even care. He'd get all that sorted later. If she wanted money, he'd find a payphone and call James. James could spot him. It was the least he could do.

The woman pulled him close and kissed him. He opened his mouth and her tongue pressed against his lips. He couldn't wait for it to press against something else.

Nick lost track of where they walked. When they stopped in front of a locked door, the woman shoved it open and led him down a dark hallway. Her wandering hands unhooked the buttons on the front of his pants as she led him into a stairwell.

She pulled down his jeans and knickers, and knelt in front of him before he could protest. He held her head in the dark as it bobbed up and down.

_Sweet. Holy. Fuck._

Nick grabbed onto her hair and entwined his fingers in the long strands. In the dim light, he wasn't even sure what color it was. He had thought black, but now it looked brown.

Eh, who gave a fuck? 

Nick leaned back and decided to enjoy himself. He reached for a conduit attached to the concrete wall, held on, and closed his eyes.

This wasn't going to take long. If she wanted a little something from him in return, she should stop.

_Don't worry about her. Just focus on the feeling._

He really needed this.

A male voice said, "Are you feeling good up there, love?"

Nick's eyes shot open. 

The woman was gone. In her place was a man his age.

The man smiled. "What's wrong? You don't like me anymore?"

"What is this? Where is she?"

"Who?"

"The woman I came in here with!"

The man's face shifted as he - once again - became the woman from the street. "I'm right here, love. I never left you."

_A fucking metamorphmagus._

"Look, I'm not a bloody-"

The face changed back to the man's; the hair shortened against the scalp. "Not a what?"

"I'm not a bloody faggot. I don't want you-"

The metamorphmagus shoved him - hard - against the wall, and pulled out a wand. "How about you shut your mouth? You unappreciative arsehole."

The metamorphmagus waved the wand and said, in a somewhat sing-song voice, " _Petrificus Totalus_."

Nick couldn't move. He couldn't fucking move. 

The metamorphmagus muttered the levitation charm and Nick's paralyzed body lifted into the air.

_Holy fuck. Holy fuck CHRIST this is bad._

"The real bitch of it all is that we could have had such a good time if you would have let me keep going. I would have treated you so well before I had to do this.”

The metamorphmagus positioned themself a few steps above Nick, and took out a knife. They pressed it into Nick's forehead and carved a slanted line. Blood ran into Nick's open eyes. He couldn't even scream.

The metamorphmagus carved another slanted line. And another.

"I know what you're thinking. Why you? Well, why not?" 

They carved a fourth line. "Though I am sorry to leave your attractive body in such a manner. It's such a damn waste."

_NO FUCK NO NO NO_

The metamorphmagus cut into Nick's throat. 


	44. After the Fact

**March 1988**

It took four days for someone to find the body in the stairwell. The police got the tip from a homeless man who had broken into an abandoned office building in north London to hole up and shoot heroin. His plans changed when he pushed open an unlocked door and saw a corpse that he swore to Christ was floating in the air.

Juliet's police scanner broadcast the report at five thirty in the morning.

_"Possible homicide in Tottenham near White Hart Lane. All nearby units respond. Body found decapitated and mutilated."_

Juliet grabbed her coat, pulled on her boots, and disapparated.

She appeared in Cassio's flat.

He was already standing by the door. "I can get us as far as Noel Park."

Juliet shook her head. "I've got this. I met Bev for coffee on White Hart Lane last summer."

She took Cassio's arm.

_CRACK_

They appeared inside a dark café, knocked over two chairs, and triggered the alarm.

Cassio raised his wand and silenced the piercing noise.

Flashing blue and white lights came from the street. Three police cars were parked in front of the building on the corner. An officer stretched yellow tape across the entryway.

"Let's try the alleyway," Juliet said.

They walked through the kitchen and ducked out the back door.

An officer stood guard at the building’s rear entrance.

Juliet raised her wand and _BANG_ hit him with the stunning spell.

They went inside and followed the sound of voices.

Two more officers - and a homicide detective - stood in the hallway in front of them.

Juliet _BANG BANG_ fired blasts of red energy at the men. Two of them collapsed. The third reached for his gun.

Cassio _BANG_ made sure he never touched it.

Juliet stepped over the unconscious detective, ducked under a ribbon of police tape, and walked into the stairwell.

Cassio bent down and reached for the forehead of the closest officer. He went through the man's thoughts and altered his recollection of the last few minutes, removing all traces of himself and Juliet.

The landing in front of Juliet was covered with dark congealed blood. More was streaked across the concrete walls.

The dead man was no longer suspended in the air. The levitation charm had worn off and the corpse had fallen onto the landing; a deformed mess covered in its own blood. The legs were mangled and twisted at an unnatural angle. The detached head, however, still hovered above the butchered neck.

The body was naked from the waist down. That was different. The man's pants were bunched around his ankles; a clump of fabric, denim, and blood.

Juliet and Cassio had beaten the forensics team, but the muggles would be there soon enough. They'd have to work fast if they didn't want to spend the rest of the night assaulting government employees.

Cassio took out his camera. The flash bulb lit up the shadowed stairwell. After he captured what he could from the doorway, he levitated over the body to avoid contaminating the scene.

Cassio landed on the stairs eight feet below Juliet, where the blood had poured over the surfaces of the treads, dripped off the noses, and ran down the risers.

Juliet took off her long coat and left it in the hallway. She levitated and walked above the corpse; took a knee and leaned down to examine the body.

Cassio took out a sheet of parchment and left the camera floating in the air.

"The _M_ on the forehead was carved with a sharp, blunt instrument," Juliet said, "same as all the others."

Cassio made notes and took another photograph.

"The head was removed with a similar sharp, blunt instrument. Probably the same one. The spinal cord is fragmented and the wind pipe is shredded. Whoever decapitated this man took their time, and had to use a lot of force."

Juliet looked at the bloody pile of clothes wrapped around the bottom of the man's legs.

_Let's find out who you were._

_Accio wallet._

The legs twisted as the wallet pulled itself free of the wet clump that was the man's jeans. Trapped blood leaked out from the folds of denim.

Juliet grabbed the wallet as it flew at her head, wiped it off, and removed the man's driver's license. She wiped off blood until she could read his information.

"Nicholas Conner. Twenty years old."

There was nothing else in the wallet apart from an expired library card and a used Underground ticket. Juliet pocketed the ID and sent the wallet back to the dead man's pants.

Someone was in the hallway. Juliet stood up - still floating in the air - and faced the doorway with her wand raised. Cassio did the same.

"Lower your fucking wands," Moody said, ducking under the police tape. 

"How did you-"

"You're not the only ones with police scanners now."

Juliet still hovered above the body. "Do you want to take over?"

"No," Moody said, gesturing at the corpse. "By all means, continue. This is your damn crime scene."

Juliet knelt back over the body. "Apart from the forehead and the neck, there are no other wounds on the body, and it appears that . . . wait."

A long piece of hair was wrapped around the dead man's middle and index fingers. "Cass, get this."

She leaned back so Cassio could take his picture. Juliet used spell work to untangle the strand from the man's hand. It hung in the air; suspended in front of her face and covered with blood. She reached into her pocket and took out a vial. When the hair was inside, she capped it with a cork. She used another vial to collect a sample of the congealed blood.

There wasn't anything else. At least, nothing readily visible.

Juliet stood up, stepped back, and cast a spell designed to collect any genetic material that didn't belong to the victim.

She shouldn't have been surprised when a sticky substance separated from the blood on the man's flaccid dick and collected in the air.

_At least he had a final moment of pleasure before his neck was torn open._

_Or, this is a kink gone terribly wrong._

Juliet siphoned the substance out of the air and into a waiting vial.

"Crime scene investigation complete. Three samples obtained. Remains left behind for a second investigation to presumably be conducted by the muggle authorities."

Cassio copied Juliet's diction and finished his notes.

Juliet looked at Moody. "Do you agree that we should leave the body here?"

The old Auror nodded. "We'll let the muggles have him. This will be the thirteenth body they've found before we did. They should be looking for a serial killer by now. Stay on them. If the police find anything that will help us, so be it."

Juliet broke the levitation charm and stepped on a clean portion of the landing. "Any chance you plan on sticking around?"

Moody shook his head. "I've got a meeting this morning with an engineer who can tell me exactly when the tunnels leading to the Underground station where Carrow's body was found were encased in concrete. That will limit the access timeline."

"I thought that appariting kid told you he'd never been down there before."

"Not as far as he remembers, but that's not how apparition works, and that body didn't get down there on its own."

Juliet stepped into the hallway and grabbed her coat. It was time to get out of there.

"I'll get what I can off these samples and dig into the victim's background. We'll keep an eye on the muggle police, too, and see if they come up with anything useful."

Moody stepped over the unconscious bodies Juliet and Cassio had left in their wake. "Did any of these muggles see you?"

Cassio said, "I've already dealt with them."

"He grabbed foreheads and altered memories before we even started on the body."

Moody stopped. "I'll be fucked by a Boggart."

"What?"

"I know how that kid got inside the Underground station."


	45. Nothing Like It

**March 1988**

Aaron plunged his hands into dirty dish water and used a washrag to scrub the plates he'd submerged. It had been two days since he'd been able to do anything with magic.

Lara walked up behind him. "Do you want me to-"

"No," Aaron said.

"You don't have to be stubborn about it."

"It builds character or some shit, right?"

"If by 'build character' you mean punishing yourself for not being able to use magic, then yes."

"I got along fine without it before. It's not like I had anything else to do tonight." Nothing in his voice indicated that any of this was fine.

Lara leaned against the counter. "You don't want to smuggle more fire whiskey up to one of the common rooms?"

Aaron kept his eyes on the sink. "Did you always know I did that?"

"I know exactly what is – and what is not – in this kitchen at all times."

"I can pay for what I took."

Lara smiled. "You didn't drink all of that alcohol by yourself. I was a student here, too. I still sneak a bottle out every now and again."

She took out her wand and cast a self-cleaning charm on the silverware he'd left soaking in a bucket of hot water. "Come find me in an hour when you decide you're tired of doing this by hand."

Aaron reached for the next stack of plates, and scrubbed until his fingers cramped.

"When Minerva said I could find you in the kitchen, I didn't think it was because you were working down here."

Aaron hadn't seen Alastor Moody since his last week at St. Mungo's. The old Auror had woken him up at four in the morning, given him Veritaserum, and made him write down every place he could remember living or passing through; schools, flats and houses with addresses he'd long since forgotten, and countless locations in-between. None of them had been anywhere near London, let alone the Underground station. When Moody asked for more details, Aaron tried not to tell him – there was too much he didn't want to talk about – but the truth potion made him pull apart all of his memories of the time he'd spent in the great foster care system of the United Kingdom. He'd told the man too much about things that had happened at the places on his list; things he'd never told anyone.

Aaron was not excited to see Moody.

"Dry off your hands and come with me," Moody said.

Aaron leaned against the sink and folded his arms across his chest.

"I won't make you drink anymore potions."

"I don't know anything else about the Underground station or Carrow, alright? I don't know how his body got down there, and I don't know how I ended up standing in front of it."

"I do," Moody said.

"Bollocks."

A house elf scurried past them.

"This isn't the best place to talk."

Aaron dried his hands and pulled off his apron. He left the last of the dishes in the sink and followed Moody.

Moody looked at his arm as they walked past The Great Hall. "When was the last time you took that thing off?"

"I mean, I don't shower with it."

"Are you still feeling sick and seeing the locations when you aren't wearing it?"

"Not every time," Aaron said, "but often enough that I don't like removing it."

"Who's been teaching you how to control the apparition?"

"No one."

"Bloody hell."

"None of the professors want to watch me kill myself or deal with the consequences of me appearing and disappearing in front of unsuspecting muggles from here to Glasgow again."

They took a staircase down to the dungeons. When they were inside the Potions classroom, Moody closed the door, enchanted it to stay locked, and added a noise-blocking charm for good measure.

He looked at Aaron. "I need another list."

"I've gone through all the places in my head. I can't think of any more I haven't already given you, except maybe where I was born, but I have no idea where that was. I've never had a birth certificate and I don't know where the hell I was for the first seven months of my life before my social worker started keeping records."

"Don't worry about any of that. We've already established that you had never been in that Underground station before you apparated there in July. How could you have ever gotten down there? Those tunnels and access corridors were encased in concrete ten years before you were born. You didn't kill Carrow."

Moody kept his eyes on Aaron. He was sure now. "But you touched whoever did."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"I have two young Aurors who have what I have started to think of as amplified magical abilities."

Aaron laughed. It came out like a sudden, choking sound. "Now I know you're full of shit. I'm the least magical student at this school. Didn't you just see me doing the dishes with my hands?"

Moody didn't say anything.

"I'm rubbish at magic. I've spent the last four years at this school trying not to get kicked out for not being able to use magic. I'm still trying to get the hang of charms like _Wingardium Leviosa_. In my fourth year. I'm shit at magic."

"You're not shit at apparition, or whatever it is you're doing. My Aurors have touch-related abilities, too. One of them is a walking pensieve. She can pull herself into peoples' thoughts and memories just by touching them. Her twin can erase and alter memories by touching people. I think your apparition works the same way – with a touch transfer. I think you can apparate to wherever you have been, and to wherever people you've touched have been."

The day Aaron had been on the floor in Hagrid's hut – drooling and clutching the hardwood – the layers of locations and the nausea had gotten worse when Hagrid touched him. And he'd seen parts of the Forbidden Forest that he'd never been to. He'd never been to The Burrow until he jumped there, but obviously Charlie and Bill had. He tried to remember the rest of what he saw. The bakery could have been Eni's family bakery. And –

"When you grabbed me," Aaron said, "we ended up at your flat."

"Still think I'm full of shit?"

Aaron grabbed a piece of parchment off a desk. 

Moody handed him a quill and an inkpot. "Write down anyone you've had physical contact with in the last two years."

_That's most of Hogwarts._

Aaron wrote fast, starting with the names of his friends. He added Hagrid, Aleus, and Lara. Had Arthur and Molly carried him when he was unconscious?

 _Shit._ He didn't even know the names of most of the healers at St. Mungo's. He wrote _Hospital Staff_ and moved on.

He hesitated on the last name. Would Moody want more details about the kind of physical contact he'd had with these people? Aaron would be lying if he told himself he didn't think the old man was capable of killing Carrow after seeing how unhinged he was that night in the kitchen.

Aaron wrote _Albus Dumbledore_ , and handed the list to Moody. "That's everyone, except maybe a few people I've jostled in the hallways. At that point, just ask McGonagall for the entire student roster."

Moody looked at the list. "I won't need that."

Aaron watched Moody's face as he read through the names. He didn't seem surprised by anything he saw.

"I have to finish in the kitchen," Aaron said. "If you're going to gag me again-"

"Can I trust you?"

"Yes."

"If we're going to work together, I can't shut you up with a charm every time something happens. Either I trust you and you make us both regret it, or we start making more progress. One of the people on this list killed Carrow. I don't think I need to explain to you how important it is that no one knows about these names."

"You can trust me," Aaron said. "I won't talk."

"If you do, I will do a lot more than gag you." Moody folded the parchment and tucked it in his coat. "How are your grades?"

"My grades?"

"You've got O.W.L.s next year, right?"

"Right, yeah," Aaron said. 

“Are you prepared?”

"If I can get a better handle on the spell and charm work I might be able to squeeze by with-"

"I need you to do a lot more than squeeze by."

"I'll try," Aaron said. "The magic isn't always there, but I do fine with the rest."

Moody said, "Keep working at it."

"I will."

"With what you can do, learning how to control it is no longer an option. You have to learn how to control it. And how to use it. If that means I come out here a few times a month and figure it out with you, so be it."

" . . . You're going to help me?"

"I don't think you realize how rare whatever you can do is. I've never seen anything like it. If you can really pull locations off of people just by touching them, it changes everything. The whole damn way we do things. Especially with how you bypass wards. It's too important to ignore, or have you spend the rest of your life cutting off your abilities with an iron shackle."

"I don't know if I can-"

"Aaron, do you really want to keep drooling and hearing what you described to me as 'ear destroying noise' every time you take that thing off?"

"That's not even a question."

"Admittedly, whether or not you _want_ to do this is somewhat irrelevant at this point."

"I do though. You're right. I can't live like this. I need to learn how to control the apparition."

"Good," Moody said, "we'll start with that, at least."


	46. Toil & Trouble

**March 1988**

The walls in Juliet's living room were covered with photographs, articles torn out of _The Daily Prophet,_ and handwritten notes. Some of the parchment was worn and the ink was faded from prolonged exposure to the sunlight that came in through her windows in the late afternoons. She'd have to cast more anti-aging charms, or re-write some of them herself.

The oldest notes were transcripts from April 17, 1985. Juliet had been working independently as an Auror for all of eight months when she excavated the minds of Albus Dumbledore, Barty Crouch Senior, and Cornelius Fudge. Two days after the slain muggle-borns were found in the Wizengamot dungeon, she'd placed her hands on the temples of each man and found similar memories; bodies hanging in the air, mutilated foreheads, and smeared streaks of blood.

 _Here_ was something. Fucking finally. A quadruple homicide. A real, honest to Christ crime committed not two hundred meters from The Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Before the muggle-born murders, Juliet had spent too much of her time as an Auror waiting for something to happen. Burke had given her the mind-numbing task of reviewing and sorting vials of confiscated memories to keep her busy. She had spent weeks in the storage closet by the armory; pouring strands of memories into a pensieve, making notes in a ledger, and re-shelving the stored recollections in some kind of order. From what Juliet remembered, most of the memories she'd catalogued had been worthless; witches and wizards testing the limits of basic charms, witnessing minor crimes, and finding illegal ways to use common spells. Burke had told her the memories were significant, and that sorting them and finding out what they contained was important work, but it had all been a load of shit. Juliet was just the youngest – and the least experienced – Auror on the payroll, and the director hadn't known what else to do with her before the murders started.

Three years later, thirty-one _thirty-two Nicholas Conner makes it thirty-two_ muggle-borns had been slaughtered and the most she had to go on was her own memories from the night she and Cassio had walked in on the killing of Albert Daven.

Until now.

Juliet ignited the lantern on her desk and moved a stack of books out of the way. She stood on a chair and yanked the smoke detector off the ceiling, opened a window, and started a fire beneath her cauldron.

The killer had gotten sloppy, or they had interrupted Nicholas while he was getting head in the stairwell. Either way, she would have another face to go with her crime scene and another person to find and question.

Juliet dropped a handful of Angel's Trumpet into the cauldron. She cracked an Ashwinder egg in next, carful to include all the fragments of the shell. After stirring for four minutes, she added dragon's blood, reached into her satchel, and pulled out the jar of fireflies she had picked up from the apothecary. She unscrewed the lid, reached inside, and crushed the insects in her palm. She scraped neon guts and broken wings into the cauldron, and stirred until the mixture's coloration changed from green, red, and orange to purple and dark indigo; a sunset fading into twilight. The dark concoction swirled until it became a starry night. That would be the fireflies.

Juliet pulled on gloves and took the strand of hair out of the vial. She removed the crusted film of blood, dropped it in the cauldron, and waited.

It didn't take long for steam to rise from the liquid sky.

_Come on._

The dyed plumes coalesced and formed themselves into the shape of a woman's body.

_Yes, I guessed that much. Show me more._

The features settled and details appeared; long brown hair, light skin, and blue eyes. 

Juliet held up a piece of parchment and raised her wand. The ghost of the woman turned into colored shades of charcoal that copied themselves onto the blank sheet, creating what the muggles called a facial composite; a police sketch.

Juliet stared at the resulting image. She had never seen the woman before. Was she the killer? Or had her and Conner both been in the wrong place at the wrong time? If so, where was her body?

Juliet tossed out the contents of the cauldron - kept the strand of hair - and started over for the next sample, not wanting to contaminate her subsequent round of evidence. When the second batch of Midnight Oil was ready, she added the substance she'd pulled off Nicholas Conner's flaccid penis.

The steam curled in on itself until a man's face appeared on the woman's body.

_Were both of these tossers giving this bastard head? Is this the same man and woman I chased up the fire escape?_

_What kind of sick fucks are killing these people?_

No. Something was wrong. The steam didn't settle. It danced in front of her in a constant state of flux; shifting between masculine and feminine forms.

_Oh fuck._

A metamorphmagus.

A fucking metamorphmagus had sucked Nicholas Conner's dick, and pulled a knife across his throat.


	47. Twenty-Eight

**April 1988**

A woman with long blonde hair adjusted her satchel and took the stairs from the street down to the pub. The noise inside assaulted her as she pulled open the front door; a cacophony of voices at different pitches, tones, and volumes. _The Clash_ \- or maybe it was the _Ramones_ \- came from the speakers behind the bar. 

Glass shattered. Someone had dropped their pint. The people around the culprit clapped while the bartender tossed a dirty towel in the direction of the applause.

The blonde shouldered her way through a group of men standing near the dart boards. They looked her up and down as she moved past them, elbowing the lot of them more than was necessary and smiling as they covered their drinks with their hands to keep the contents from spilling. Their sport coats and blazers were saturated with a potent overabundance of cologne.

One of them tapped her on the arm. "Want I should buy you a pint, love?"

Oh, how she wanted him to - well fit chap with glasses and an expensive looking watch - but there wasn't enough time.

She took the man's drink out of his hand and raised it to her lips. "It seems you already have."

His friends laughed.

She walked to the back of the pub and entered the single-stall water closet; locked the door behind her and chugged the beer. Her hair shortened and turned black as she set the empty glass on the sink.

When the metamorphmagus who stood in front of the stained mirror chose to present as a woman, she gave her name as Roxanne or Ellen, depending on her mood. When their form settled on the masculine, he went by Richard or Marcus; something a bit more regal. But - whenever possible - Kayal Rowle preferred to exist in a state somewhere in-between; to blur the boundaries.

Kayal took a vial out of their pocket and smeared the contents across their forehead as their features rippled and pulsed. They reached into the satchel, took out a robe, and pulled it over their tight red dress.

Kayal raised their wand. A few flicks - a few words - and the wall next to the toilet transformed, revealing a stone staircase. The wall closed behind Kayal as they descended into darkness.

Now came the fun part.

The tunnel in front of Kayal diverted and segmented as they walked forward. One corridor became four intersecting hallways. The ceilings lowered and pitched downward. Kayal held onto one of the more stable walls and tried to remember which moving passageway they were supposed to take. Slamming the beer had been a bad idea.

A hand grabbed Kayal's shoulder and pulled them hard to the left. "This way."

Kayal recognized the voice. "Fuck, Nott, you can't grab me in the bloody dark like that. I might have-"

"The labyrinth key has been changed."

"Well, someone could have told me."

"I just changed it." Theshan Nott pulled Kayal down the - still moving - corridor. 

The floor moved independent of the ceiling and Kayal struggled to keep their balance. They had no idea where they were, or if they were even still in London. In the dark, Nott could have taken them both right through one of his damn mirror portals.

Kayal's heels dug into their feet as they changed size and width, trying to find the best form for balance.

_Fuck it._

Kayal grabbed Nott's shoulder to stabilize themself, reached down, and pulled off their stilettos.

Nott shoved Kayal against the stone wall and held his wand to their throat. "What is wrong with you?"

"My feet are killing me and you're dragging me all over the bloody-"

Nott twisted his wand into Kayal's windpipe. "You were sloppy. You left pieces of yourself at your last kill site."

"Then why didn't you-"

"I'm not going out of my way to clean up after you. Check tomorrow's _Prophet_. The Aurors made two of your forms."

"Then I won't use those forms anymore, yeah? It doesn't matter. None of those Aurors know shit. They still think we attacked the bloody train."

The end of Nott's wand glowed a concerning shade of red. "Do it again - make another mistake - and I'll lead them right to you."

Nott pulled his hood over his head, raised his wand, and yanked down the walls that surrounded them. When everything stopped moving, they stood at the edge of a circular room filled with other figures in dark robes and coverings; witches and wizards determined to remain unseen, though Kayal knew most of them by name.

Kayal reached into their satchel and withdrew a blood-covered knife wrapped in a piece of linen. They handed it to Nott, and turned their head.

Theshan Nott raised his wand. Kayal surrendered their memories of the kill in the stairwell, starting a few seconds after their male form had gotten off his knees.

A massive pensieve ascended from the floor. Nott walked up to it and submerged the end of his wand. The others surrounded the basin as Kayal's memories unraveled.

An old witch stood on the opposite side of the room. "Before we celebrate the removal of another impostor, we must remember why we are here. We must honor our ancestors; all who were imprisoned, tortured, and killed at the hands of muggles. Let us repeat their names."

The gathered crowd lowered their heads and chanted twenty-eight names.

"Abbott. Avery. Black. Bulstrode. Burke. Carrow. Crouch. Fawley. Flint. Gaunt. Greengrass. Lestrange. Longbottom. Macmillan. Malfoy. Nott. Ollivander. Parkinson. Prewett. Rosier. Rowle. Selwyn. Shacklebolt. Shafig. Slughorn. Travers. Weasley. Yaxley."

Nott sent the knife across the pensieve. The old witch took it out of the air and looked at him. "Who removed the impostor?"

Kayal stepped forward.

"Very well," the witch said, "let us witness what you have done."

The collective submerged their heads and watched Kayal kill Nicholas Conner.

When it was over, the old witch raised her wand and siphoned the blood off the knife. She collected it in a waiting vial. The blood mixed with a gold and black fluid that tossed inside.

Nott grabbed Kayal's shoulder while she prepared the concoction. "If you insist on being incompetent, I won't bother with the Aurors. I will kill you myself. And no one will come looking for your body, because I will make it as though you never existed."

The old witch sent the vial across the pensieve. Kayal took it out of the air and slipped it into their robe. The ritual was complete.

Theshan Nott kept his nails imbedded in Kayal's shifting flesh.


	48. Distortion

**May 1988**

_Aaron,_

_Forbidden Forest. Just before dawn._

_Tell no one._

_Moody_

* * *

It was dark when Aaron left the castle. Eni had the training wand and he didn't want to wake Charlie or Bill up to borrow one, so he took a lantern from the storage closet and headed for the forest.

He ignored what sounded like something moving in the branches above his head as he walked into the trees. The noise stayed with him until he found Moody standing in a clearing half a mile into the woods.

Aaron set the lantern on the ground between them. Even after sunrise, there wouldn't be much more light this far into the forest.

Moody took a vial out of his coat and handed it to Aaron. "Drink this."

Aaron removed the cork and upended the vial.

"The taste leaves a lot to be desired, but it will counteract your trace signature for a few hours so The Ministry doesn't lose their shit."

The flavor was battery acid mixed with milk that had turned sour. It smelled worse. Aaron gagged twice, but he managed to get it all down.

"Good," Moody said, "now we can get some work done."

Aaron reached for the shackle, but Moody stopped him, covering Aaron's hand with his own.

"When I met you, I planned on giving you the same talk I give all the young Aurors who think they can apparate all over the damn place without consequences. You've experienced some of the consequences - the panic and fatigue and loss of control - so I don't think I need to go into detail about apparition killing witches and wizards, or the risk of splinching off body parts."

"No, you don't." He'd heard more than enough about it in his classes, too.

"Then let's start with endurance. From what I've seen of your apparition - and the hits left on the map in Burke's office last summer - your particular affliction leaves you in a constant state of instability between locations and drains your magical energy fast. You're making hundreds - maybe thousands - of micro-jumps. It's why your damn body looks like it's shaking and why you're seeing multiple places at once; you're _moving_ through them."

"And it's making me exhausted."

Moody nodded. "The only way you're going to overcome that is to increase your endurance; to increase your magical energy and your physical fitness. Since your magical abilities are lacking, you're going to spend a lot of time running. Whenever you have time - and even when you don't - I want you pounding the cobblestone or whatever is between the castle and Hogsmeade. Got it?"

"Yeah, ok, I'll run."

"And eat," Moody said. Aaron's last growth spurt had left him too skinny. "A lot."

"Fine, I will."

Moody took a few steps back toward the lantern. "Then let's see what happens when you take that thing off."

Aaron removed the shackle.

"I want you to keep yourself here as long as you can. Fight whatever pull these . . . what did you call them?"

"Layers," Aaron said. "It's just the way the locations look when they're superimposed."

"Right. Fight the layers. When you reach the point where you can't control it anymore - and you're going to either fully apparate or pass out - put the iron back on."

* * *

An hour later, nothing had happened. Aaron paced around the clearing. His shadow moved across the trees and flickered over the ground.

Moody watched him with his arms folded over his chest. "This isn't the sort of moving I had in mind."

"I told you I'm shit at magic," Aaron said. "You shouldn't have come all the way out here."

"Do you want to try this again when I'm not here? So you can lose a body part or end up back at St. Mungo's?"

"I know. I'm trying. I've never been able to just pull magic out of the air like everyone else."

Moody stepped in front of Aaron. "Do you think you're the only wizard who has ever struggled with magic? Magic is its own monster, Aaron. It's erratic and it's not always going to let you reach out and grab it. You have to make it work for you, and sometimes that means forcing it to respond and making it do what you want it to do."

"I can't," Aaron said. "I can't force it like that. Every time I use magic, it feels like I'm grasping at the edges of a fog that dissolves as soon as I try to take more."

"It doesn't dissolve when you apparate. That's no small amount of magic you're playing with. Stop trying to tap into something that isn't there and summon whatever it is you feel when your body is trying to tear itself apart."

"How do I do that?"

"You stop waiting for magic to like you and start making it your bitch."

It was the first time Moody saw Aaron smile. It was a refreshing change from the serious looks of frustration.

"Hogwarts is a good school, but they don't teach enough real-world magic. That and the war is why there's such a damn shortage of Aurors. Most of the students here can pull out their wands and turn tricks the first day on the train. The basics come easy for most of them and they never spend enough time struggling with magic, or learning how to turn it into something that works for them instead of the other way around. And most of the professors are no help. They've all gotten too comfortable and forgotten how to teach the side of magic that takes grit. They sure as shit didn't know what to do with someone struggling like you."

Moody stepped back behind the lantern. "So, are you ready to get uncomfortable?"

"Yes."

"Then reach out and summon it."

Aaron exhaled and took a few steps away from Moody, positioning himself in the center of the clearing. He kept his arms at his sides, and made himself un-clench his fists.

He summoned the Gryffindor common room. When it didn't appear, he pulled on the parts of his mind where the strongest memories of it were stored; where fireplace soot mixed with spilled ink and the sound of Charlie's voice.

He heard burning firewood crack as the room _there we go_ lapped over the lantern and Moody. The location pulled on him, but he pushed back against it, feeling for the forest and making his hold there stronger.

The city street came without being summoned. Traffic passed in front of where he stood - a few steps off a curb - for instants at a time.

_Where is this? Is it Glasgow? Is it even a street I've been on before or does it belong to someone else?_

_Does it matter?_

The common room fought the street for control as saliva coated the inside of his mouth.

_Right then, magic. Do you want to play?_

_Because I can fucking play, too, now._

Aaron summoned the library from the school that wasn't Hogwarts. He summoned the hallway outside his hospital room at St. Mungo's.

Fragmented sounds overlapped; voices, traffic, the fireplace, and pockets of silence. He made himself take his hands off his ears. He hadn't even noticed that he was using them to block the noise.

His body shook as the locations fought for control.

Moody watched Aaron's body blur. His voice reached Aaron in fragments. "How many . . . can . . . see?"

"Four," Aaron said. "Five including the forest."

"Try for more."

Aaron wiped sweat off his forehead and watched the world shift around him. He was dizzy, unsteady, and his stomach churned, but he had gotten this far without letting the layers dictate where he ended up, and he wanted to get drunk on the sensation of control.

Aaron summoned the clearing where the dragon had died. It pulled on him - hard - but he pulled harder, and brought in the Charms classroom, the Hogwarts kitchen, and the living room with the terry cloth rugs.

"Nine now," Aaron said. His vision was a chaotic reality of overlapping locations. It took a lot of effort for him to stay upright.

Moody raised his wand and cast what looked like a shield over Aaron. The boundaries of the enchantment disintegrated on impact; the rest of it warped, tangled, and tore apart around him.

Aaron collapsed on his hands and knees, dripping sweat. His arms shook from exertion.

He grabbed the shackle and clasped it around his wrist.

Everything stopped.

Aaron fell forward, dry heaving while saliva ran from the corners of his mouth.

"Are you alright?"

Aaron nodded.

"That was good fucking work."

Aaron wiped his face. "What kind of shield was that?" He'd never seen one like it, but that didn't mean much.

"It was an Archimedes Field. We use them to locate illegal portkeys and mirror portals. They detect spatial distortions, and you ripped it apart."

"I'm distorting space?"

"You're directly manipulating space; warping it and layering it over itself; folding it until it pulls you through. It explains why wards meant to prevent apparition do fuck all to stop you."

"Because I'm not appariting," Aaron said, "not technically."

"No, you aren't."

Moody helped Aaron to his feet. "But let's not tell anyone that."


	49. Of Rat & Men

**September 1988**

Percy didn't know it, but his rat was missing again.

Scabbers had waited until the boy was asleep, crawled out of bed, and crept across the dormitory floor with his nails scratching against the stones. He headed for an opening where the floor met the wall by the stairwell and scurried through the voids in the ancient masonry. The grout was uneven, and he had to watch where he stepped. Some of the crevices dropped down ten or twenty feet. The only thing worse than living as a rat would be getting tapped like one and starving to death in the walls of the castle.

Scabbers came out of the wall at a gap between two dislodged stones. He looked out - twitching his nose and smelling for the cat.

There was no sign of her. He hopped down and landed in the hallway. He'd have to scuttle out in the open for a few meters to reach the torch. It made him nervous, but the voice in his head told him to keep moving, so he ran forward.

_scratch scratch scratch scratch_

He hated how exposed he felt.

Scabbers made it across the corridor and climbed up the tapestry next to the torch. He scurried into the opening between the mounting plate and the wall. The next series of inner-wall tunnels would take him along the One-Eyed Witch Passage. 

He didn't stop until he reached Honeydukes.

He still had to get to the Three Broomsticks to use the floo network. It would take him another fifteen minutes to get there. Being a rat was exhausting.

No one was inside the inn when he arrived.

 _Do it now,_ the voice told him.

Scabbers stood on his hind legs and transformed, ripping out of his rat form and landing on the stone floor as Peter Pettigrew.

He ran his hands over his arms and legs. It didn't bother him that he was naked. He was relieved to see that all of his human parts were still functional.

_Thank Merlin._

_Don't thank Merlin,_ the voice said, _THANK ME. AND STOP WASTING TIME. The way is unguarded tonight. This will prove to be one of the most important missions I have sent you on._

Peter grabbed a handful of floo powder from the dish on the mantel.

"Crouch residence," he said, and stepped into the fireplace.

He landed on a dark hearth. Soot stuck to places he rather wished it hadn't.

_Transform back NOW._

"But I just-"

_NOW, YOU USELESS DOLT._

Peter rubbed his arms one more time, and shrank back into his rat form.

_He's in the kitchen. Go now._

Scabbers scurried across the tile floor. A moldy piece of bread was laying beneath one of the kitchen cabinets. He approached it, sniffed it, and ate it. 

He looked across the room. The voice was right. He wasn't alone.

A man stood in the corner, facing the wall. Scabbers crawled closer, staying beneath the edge of the cabinets.

_It's Barty. He IS alive._

There were dark circles under Barty's clouded eyes. He looked broken; weak and malnourished. 

_I wanted you to see that you aren't alone. Crouch is alive, as are you. And there are others._

Scabbers took a few steps closer. Something was wrong with Barty.

 _He's been trapped in his own mind by his father's Imperius Curse_. _Now isn't the time to save him. I'm not strong enough, and neither is he. But the time will come, and I will reward both of you for your dedication._

_For now, I need you to wait._

Scabbers did. He sat under the cabinets for the next two hours, watching Crouch stand motionless and waiting to hear the voice again.

He didn't hear anything. The voice had abandoned him. 

It was time to go home.

The sun was rising outside the windows when Scabbers crawled back into Percy's bed.


	50. Damages

**October 1988**

_"The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death."_

Dumbledore studied the inscription on the headstone and touched the words with shaking fingers. He raised a bottle to his lips and took another drink.

The deaths of Lily and James Potter haunted him. To the day, it had been seven years since they were killed.

If the fragile lives of his former students had ever been his concern during the war, then he could have hoped to find something resembling humanity inside of himself and used it to secure his unhinged mind. But nothing he did - none of it - had ever been for them. And now, Lily and James were dead, Alice and Frank had been driven insane, and their orphaned children would never know their parents.

_If anyone knew the kind of man I am - the kind of man that I have always been - they would never allow me near students again._

_I damage them._

He threw the empty bottle across the graveyard. It shattered against a tree.

_No. I haven't damaged all of them._

_I still have the boy who lived._

Dumbledore disapparated.

He appeared on a sidewalk; on a muggle street in Surrey. The street name blurred, but he knew where he was.

He tried to steady himself. If there were muggles around, he'd rather not draw their attention.

Dumbledore walked until he stood across the street from Number Four Privet Drive.

Two children played in the front yard; a fat boy, and a much smaller one with dark hair and glasses. The fat boy shoved the child with dark hair on the ground. He landed hard. The fat boy laughed and smacked his face.

Dumbledore raised his hand. Dudley fell backward and cut his arm on the uneven concrete driveway. He screamed until Petunia Dursley came outside, cradled him against her chest, and took him inside.

Harry stood up. He wiped blood off his lower lip, but more came.

Even from a distance, Dumbledore could see Lily and James in Harry. They were all over his features and expressions. Dumbledore wanted to run across the street, pick the boy up, and save him from this place. He hadn't loved the others - he knew that - but he would love Harry. He wouldn't make the same mistakes with Harry. Loving Lily and James' son would be his redemption. The boy would save him, as he was unable to save himself.

Overcome, Dumbledore stepped off the curb - and stopped in the middle of the road. 

_no_

He couldn't approach the boy in this state. He stank of alcohol and he hadn't slept in a bed for weeks.

_I would only do more damage._

What made him think it would be any different with Harry? 

_I damage them. I neglect them. I use them for my own ends and outright abuse them._

He thought of the other dark-haired boy; the late name student who had startled him in the kitchen last year.

The spell he had used on Aaron would have done more damage if he wouldn't have been so drunk when he had cast it. The force of it might have broken the boy's neck. He couldn't trust himself not to use it again. He didn't even know if he could be trusted to never attack a student again, not as he was now.

And if he ever hurt Harry, there would be no redemption. 

He couldn’t go to Harry now.

Dumbledore took one last look across the street, and vanished.


	51. Ignition

**November 1988**

"Hogsmeade! How's everyone doing tonight?"

The crowd hollered. 

Myron took the microphone out of its stand and walked across the stage. 

"This is a bit different, yeah? Well, we finally decided to take our show on the road, even if the road was a short one." 

Kirley laughed behind him. 

"To commemorate our first performance off school property, I'd like to introduce the newest member of our group. You all know him as Donaghan Tremlett of Hufflepuff, but you'll soon find out why we call him Tremble Fingers."

The crowd laughed. Donaghan shook his head and kept his eyes on his bass guitar.

"He doesn't like the attention," Myron said. "So, let's make this as uncomfortable for him as we can. Donny, this one's for you. Wrote it myself this morning. I'm calling it _Badger's First Time_."

A sharp riff came from Kirley's guitar. Myron screamed into the microphone.

The barn behind the Hog's Head Inn had sat abandoned for twelve years before tonight. Students and townies crowded the loft and leaned over the railings to watch the show. More stood on wooden barrels and crates inside what was left of the horse stalls, trying to see over the mass of bodies in front of the stage.

Eni shouldered her way through the crowd. This would be easier if she were a bit taller. Students she knew - and more she didn't - stood close to each other, yelling over the music and waving their hands in the air.

Eni tripped over someone's foot and bumped into a girl with a pierced lip. The music was too loud for the girl to hear Eni apologize, but she mouthed the words anyway. Pierced Lip smiled. Her pointed ears stuck out from a head of shagged blonde hair. Eni thought she saw the girl's eyes wander across her body as the stage lights flashed, but a boy with a mohawk stepped between them before she could be sure.

The first song ended. Myron went right into the next one. The boy with the mohawk and the girl with pointed ears cheered as Myron sang.

_"This is the night! This is the fucking night! So, take your hands off me. Tonight, I'm breaking free."_

Eni saw Tonks a few rows back from the stage and walked up to her.

Tonks leaned into her and yelled, "Aren't they great?"

Eni responded that they were, but Tonks couldn't hear her over the music, and besides, she was screaming out lyrics Eni didn't know. Oh well.

Eni slipped into the music. The bass pounded against her chest as Donaghan worked his instrument.

_"I close my eyes and squeeze you from my consciousness. And in the morning when I wake, the line I walk is straight. But the morning is so many miles away."_

Eni was disappointed that she'd missed the nights the _Weird Sisters_ had played in the Hufflepuff common room. She wanted more of this. She should have gone last year when Tonks invited all of them.

When the song was over, she yelled and applauded with the rest of the crowd, and looked around for the girl with pointed ears.

She didn't see her, but she saw Aaron, leaning against a column to the left of the stage. He watched the band, standing alone with his arms folded over his chest and headphones around his neck, trying not to get jostled by the people around him.

Eni left Tonks and walked through the crowd until she stood next to Aaron. "You missed the first two songs."

Aaron's hair was pulled back and his face was red. He'd been running again. "I lost track of time. How are they? They seem alright."

"They're not the _Sex Pistols_ , but they're not bad."

Eni took out her pack of cigarettes and handed one to Aaron; touched the end of hers and lit it with an incineration charm. She inhaled and held the cigarette out. Aaron held the end of his against hers and inhaled until it caught. They'd picked up the habit over the summer and neither of them wanted to quit yet.

Eni exhaled smoke and nodded her head to the music. She saw Pierced Lip again, walking through the crowd behind Tonks. The girl looked around, saw Eni, and waved at her. Eni waved back, awkwardly holding her cigarette.

Aaron said, "Go on, she likes you."

"She does not," Eni said. "And she's here with someone. Some bloke with a mohawk."

"That's her cousin," Aaron said.

"Oh, like you know."

"She's Aleus Zyc's niece. Don't tell me you haven't seen her working in the Three Broomsticks all summer."

"I haven't been to Hogsmeade since May. What else do you know about her?"

Aaron shrugged and took a long drag. "Not much. Aleus has been trying to convince her to go to college in the muggle world."

"What's her name?"

"Lynn? Leah?"

"Goddamn it, Aaron," Eni said, "I need help here."

"I don’t remember her name, but I know she's some percent goblin, if that does anything more for you."

Eni's hands were sweating and the music didn't help. Myron had started singing a slow song.

_"So, believe that magic works and don't be afraid of being hurt."_

_Thanks, Weird Sisters._

She wiped her sweaty hands on her skirt, crushed out her cigarette, and took a few steps toward the other girl, feeling short and nervous.

She looked back at Aaron.

He mouthed, _Fucking say hi._

Eni made herself walk forward until she stood right behind the girl. Pierced Lip didn't notice.

Eni looked back at Aaron. _What now, arsehole?_

The girl turned around and leaned into Eni's ear. "Mind if I bum a cigarette?"

Eni fumbled for her pack and dropped it. 

_Chikusho_

The girl smiled, bent down, and grabbed it off the floor. She handed the pack back to Eni. Eni took a cigarette out and handed it to the girl. With her hands shaking, Eni touched the tip of the girl's cigarette and sparked a flame.

The girl inhaled. "What's your name, Hand Magic?"

"Eni."

"I'm Lee."

The music was loud, but Lee stayed close against her neck.

"You look like a Hogwarts girl. Do you know the band?"

"Just the new bloke."

"The bass guitarist?"

"Donaghan, yeah," Eni said, hoping her yelling wasn't further destroying Lee's eardrums. "He's in my year, but he mostly hangs out with the lead singer's class - the Seventh Years."

"Right," Lee said, exhaling smoke. "I heard they're lining up gigs across the UK."

Eni nodded. "Donaghan wants to join them. He says he'll drop out, if that's what it takes."

"I think they have a good shot, based on this performance." Lee was so close. Eni could smell the perfume she wore; plums and lavender. 

Lee asked, "Do you like Joan Jett? You look kind of like her, you know."

Eni was glad the lights were dim as heat rushed to her face. She whispered back, "You could be Debbie Harry."

Lee reached down and took Eni's hand. "Is this alright?"

Eni managed, "Yes."

Lee pulled her into a gentle kiss.

The dense crowd pushed them away from the stage, but Eni didn't care. Lee's tongue prodded against the inside of her mouth, and tasted like the spiked punch her uncle had let her drink before the show. The sensations were intoxicating.

The bass from the music pounded through Eni's body as she sucked on Lee's pierced lip.


	52. The Daily Prophet - 5 December, 1988

**_MUGGLE-BORN REGISTRATION BACK ON THE TABLE_ **

_After the reports of last week's double homicide in Bristol, the count of muggle-borns killed in the on-going murders stands at forty-three. Apart from the two facial composites released by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement last spring - and warnings that a metamorphmagus is involved - it seems the hunt for the killers has been nothing but a series of dead ends._

_Muggle-borns were dealt another blow on Friday, when Adelaide Burke announced that, although the Muggle-Born Registration Commission Act remains on hold, muggle-born registration and tracking will move forward in an attempt to protect the most vulnerable members of the wizarding community._

_"If we register the muggle-borns, we can protect them," Adelaide Burke said on Friday, "and hopefully catch whoever has been slaughtering them."_

_Burke was vague in regard to how muggle-borns will be registered, stating only that it will be done through The Department of Magical Law Enforcement._

_"The registry will be kept entirely confidential. This is not the registration act – the sole purpose of our registry is to save muggle-born lives. It will not be used to keep tabs on peoples' whereabouts."_

_Burke went on to explain that a trial run of a specialized trace spell that will be used to track muggle-borns is underway and will be used until late June, at which time The Department of Magical Law Enforcement intends to register all muggle-born wizards and witches over the age of eleven._

_Muggle-borns have already taken to the streets - and to The Ministry of Magic - in protest of what they believe is a clear attack on their autonomy; however, Burke stated that the danger to their lives is too great to worry about their concerns._

_If you are muggle-born - and fearing for your life - Burke encourages you to send an owl with the details of your situation, and any threats you may have received, directly to her desk._

* * *

**_DUMBLEDORE REMAINS MISSING_ **

_Albus Dumbledore has not been seen at Hogwarts since he abandoned his post at the end of the 1987 school year. At this time, his position is still being held by Professor Minerva McGonagall. When asked if she would be acting as headmistress on a more permanent basis, Professor McGonagall had this to say:_

_"Merlin's beard, no! Professor Dumbledore's leave of absence is not an abandonment of his post. The headmaster has been stricken with issues of a personal nature. He will deal with those issues in his own time and in his own way. After he has done so, he will return to Hogwarts."_

_When asked if she had heard from Dumbledore, or if she knows when he will return, Professor McGonagall said, and we quote, "As I said; in his own damn time. Stop concerning yourself with the affairs of higher-order wizards, like you always do. Now, get out of my office. And take the damn floating quill with you."_

_The Daily Prophet can only speculate as to whether or not the students at Hogwarts are being properly taken care of under this new leadership, and we are also left to wonder what else has gone on while Dumbledore has been absent. However, one thing is for certain, with Dumbledore, a staunch opponent of muggle-born registration, still missing, who else, if anyone, will take up his mantle and defend the muggle-born cause?_


	53. The Street

**December 1977**

An enchanted shroud descended over the city of Edinburgh as the snow fell. The effect was amplified by the glowing strands of lights that hung over the roads and the holly wreaths tied to the streetlamps. 

The young women who walked beneath the decorations were no strangers to magic, and yet there was no pretending they weren't excited by the heavy flakes that stuck to their coats. There was something so perfectly festive about spending a night on the town three days before Christmas; walking past crowded shops and leaving footprints on the sidewalks.

Lara passed a thermos full of spiked apple cider to Samantha Jones and shoved her hands in her pockets. Even with the charm she'd placed on her gloves, it was cold.

Samantha took a drink. "Why isn't Adam here?"

Adam was a half-blood townie who worked at Dervish and Banges.

"I invited him, but you know how he is. He still isn't ready to meet mum. He doesn't have much experience with muggles. Is Ernas spending the entire holiday in Barnton?"

Ernas Travers was a pure-blood wizard who had never worked a day in his life.

"I hope so. I'm going to break it off with him as soon as we're back at Hogwarts."

"He'll be crushed, poor bloke. He loves you, Sam."

"I know, but the feeling isn't mutual, and his parents would kill him if they found out he'd spent the last three months snogging a mudblood Keeper on the Quidditch pitch after every match."

Lara laughed and caught a snowflake on her tongue as warmth spread through her face. The flask was mostly alcohol.

They walked past three shops before Lara asked, "Are you still going to leave?"

Samantha took another drink and nodded. "I've been accepted to The University of Edinburgh."

"Sam! Why didn't you tell me sooner? That's wonderful news."

"I just found out this morning."

"I knew you'd escape."

"You should come with me."

Lara shook her head. "I'm afraid this is where our paths finally diverge in the woods, Sammy."

"I'm not alright with this. You should think about escaping for a bit, too. There is a war on, and no one knows what You-Know-the-Fuck-Who will do."

"I'll stick close to Hogwarts."

"Close to Adam more like."

"Might as well marry my townie and live a life of poverty."

Samantha passed her the thermos. "Be careful, Lara."

"I'll be alright, or as close to it as possible without you."

They stepped off the curb and stood on the edge of the street, waiting for the traffic to clear.

"I can't believe it's over."

Lara wrapped her arms around Samantha. "It's not. We're just getting started."

They held each other tight and ignored the honks from the passing cars.

In eight years, one of them would be dead.


	54. Ambiguous

**January 1989**

The falling snow melted as soon as it hit the streets and sidewalks, leaving behind puddles coated with dirt and grease. It looked better in Kennington Park, where it lingered on the grass and trees, and held onto a set of footprints that started in the middle of the south lawn.

Juliet walked past a group of teenagers who stood near a bench; laughing, leaning on each other, and smoking. If they felt the cold pockets of dead air, they didn't show it.

Kennington Park was haunted. And Juliet had picked up a ghost. A man wearing a gas mask walked on her left with his arms hanging limp at his sides. He had the tragic look of an apparition who hadn't realized he was dead yet; a spirit caught in the trauma and initial throes of the event that had taken his life. Kennington Park had trench-style air raid shelters during the Second World War. They had taken a direct hit in 1940, killing over a hundred people. Only forty-eight bodies had been recovered.

The man moaned and grabbed the back of his deformed head. Juliet walked with him until he disappeared.

Something hung off of her now that hadn't been there in November; an apathy and despondency the ghost had gravitated toward. It felt like everything was going to shit.

On the second of December, Burke had pulled Juliet into her office and threatened to take her off the muggle-born murders if she didn't make more progress. Juliet told her - in not so many words - to go fuck herself. Burke wouldn't have anything if it wasn't for her and Cassio. They were the ones who had put in all of the work. They had interrupted the - unfortunately successful - killing of Albert Daven. They had pulled the hair and saliva off the body of Nicholas Conner. Juliet had hand-delivered the facial composites that hung on Burke's office wall. If Burke wanted more progress, Juliet said, she should assign more Aurors to the case, and stop breathing down her neck.

It wouldn't have been so bad if that was all that had happened - a reprimand and a reminder to improve herself. But then, Burke had said, "There would be more progress if you shared your resources with the rest of the department instead of keeping things from me. Cassio told me about the muggle-born trace."

_He what?_

"He said you've been testing it for almost two years. He told me it works; he can isolate muggle-borns with a spell he developed from an ancient ancestry charm he stumbled upon."

_He fucking what?_

"The two of you have been busy; building a registry and comparing the names to police reports. It's brilliant. I won't pretend it isn't, but you and Cassio should have kept me better informed about your means and methods, and we need to take them farther. I want a map similar to the one we use to locate underage witches and wizards. And I want your list of names."

_At least he didn't give her that._

Juliet had to keep herself from breaking the ceramic lamp on Burke's desk. "No. We're not giving you the registry. The trace was never supposed to be used by anyone other than me and Cass. We're muggle-born, and we're the ones hunting down these bloody killers."

"I can't have the two of you-"

"No one else gets the names. You don't need them. Handing over our ledger would only create more problems for muggle-borns. If the list ever gets leaked, the murders will surge, and I've seen enough fucking bodies."

Juliet slammed Burke's door and headed for Cassio's makeshift office on the hallway that led to the armory. She remembered telling him to get fucked, but not much else. They hadn't spoken since.

Three days later, the trace was in _T_ _he_ _Prophet_. Burke never had been good about keeping her goddamn mouth shut.

Juliet walked through the snow and took a scrap of parchment out of her coat pocket. She stopped beneath a streetlamp to double-check the instructions. It wasn't much farther, now that she was out of the park. She walked three blocks and turned down a side street.

The neon sign in front of her was enchanted with a concealment spell. At first glance, it read _Nathan's Dry Cleaning_ , but another flicker revealed what Juliet was looking for; _The Changeling._ When she approached the front door, a shimmering ward wrapped itself around her. There was a noise-blocking charm on the building, too, but it couldn't hide the way the blacked-out windows trembled with the heavy bass that came from the speakers inside.

The guardian enchantment decided Juliet was magical enough, unwrapped itself, and let her open the door.

The nightclub assaulted her; a chaotic pulse of deafening music, colored strobe lights, and loud voices. A dense crowd danced on the far side of the room, where _Depeche Mode_ mixed with _Renegade Soundwave_ and shook the walls. Everyone was clustered together; writhing and shifting beneath the lights. Long-haired men became long-haired women, who morphed until their tits were gone, and pulled off their shirts. Some didn't bother morphing first. Their clothes were just as ambiguous; dresses pulled over tight pants, oversized tops, and fitted blazers.

When the disorientation of her new surroundings began to taper, Juliet walked forward and was immediately jostled by the metamorphmagi around her; pulled into the mass of movement and changing skin tones.

One of them grabbed her. Juliet turned around and saw a face that wasn't male or female.

The stranger raised a finger to their lips and pulled her over to a drink rail.

"Did you have to come so . . . overdressed?"

"Enir?"

They smiled.

Another non-binary individual came up behind Enir, kissed them, and danced back into the crowd.

Juliet yelled, "Should we go somewhere more private?"

Enir leaned into her. "No one can hear us over the music. This is where I feel safe, at least, safe enough to talk to a damn Auror."

 _Fair enough._ "In your letters, you told me you recognized the faces of the metamorphmagus from the wanted posters. You said you knew their name."

"If I give you their name, what assurances do I have that my name won't end up on the registry with the muggle-borns you've helped so much?"

"I'm muggle-born," Juliet said. "My name's in the registry. I know how important it is to maintain your anonymity and autonomy. I'll make sure you don't exist."

"Kayal," Enir said.

"Kayal?"

"Kayal. And we call our various appearances forms, not faces."

"I apologize. Who is Kayal?"

"Kayal Rowle is a pure-blood. A damn conceited one."

Juliet recognized the last name, at least. "What more can you tell me about him?"

" _Them_ , darling," Enir said. "I slept with them two years ago. Best fucking sex of my life; worst hangover and regret. It was a night much like this. Loud music, dark corners, and too much alcohol. Neither of us talked much. Kayal didn't want anything to do with me when it was over. They snuck out before I woke up. I saw them a few times after that night, in here and around London, but not since you lot made two of their forms."

"Would you recognize any more of their forms?"

"They're wrapped in a heavy haze of alcohol and sex, and I don't know how helpful they would be. Like I said in my letters, you're looking for a damn metamorphmagus – Merlin _and_ Christ help you. Kayal could be here now and neither of us would know it."

"Would you let me see the haze of alcohol and sex in your memories and decide for myself?"

"I don't know how I feel about The Ministry having access to replays of my . . . indiscretions."

"I won't take anything out of your head that can be stored in a vial."

Enir's face became more masculine before drifting back to feminine, and pausing at various stages in-between. "How do you plan on doing that, love?"

"It's a trade secret."

Enir laughed. "What the hell, have a go, as long as you're not shy about watching me and Kayal do queer things to each other."

"It won't be anything I haven't seen before, despite how vanilla I appear," Juliet said. "Now, focus on your night with Kayal. Start as far back as you can."

Juliet reached for Enir's head and pulled herself inside.

_They WERE intoxicated._

The recall was distorted. Juliet watched the memory through Enir's eyes; a first-person vision quest of electronic music, drinks at the bar, and dancing.

Just before the drunken movements of the metamorphmagus's lurching body made her vomit, someone grabbed Enir from behind. The shifting figure pulled them into a dark corner, where they fingered and stoked each other's morphing genitals while _Madonna_ sang. A subsequent foray out the back door resulted in both participants bringing each other to the point of release while Enir was pressed up against a wall.

The night continued; time skipped forward. Juliet watched the face of Kayal Rowle go through what had to be ten or twelve forms. 

_Now, I've got you. At least, more versions of you._

Juliet watched until the activities of the shapeshifters concluded. She pulled out just after Enir did - after they collapsed into sleep and the memory went dark.

Enir smiled. "Did you see anything you liked?"

"Everything I wanted, and then some."

Juliet reached into her coat and took out a pouch of coins. It wasn't much - just some of her own money - but Enir had given her valuable information and she didn't want to leave them with nothing.

Enir wouldn't take it. "Did you know that two of the murdered muggle-borns were metamorphmagi? I didn’t see it mentioned in _The Prophet_ , so I figured The Ministry didn't know, what with us not changing forms after death and all."

"I didn't know," Juliet said. "I thought your abilities were only passed on through half and pure-blood lines."

"Not always," Enir said. They looked past Juliet and watched the people around them. "If Kayal is involved, like you say they are, it means they went after their own kind; my kind."

Juliet stuffed the pouch back in her coat. "If you see any of Kayal's forms or anything else that would-"

"You'll be the first to know," Enir said. "If I don't kill the bloody tosser myself."

* * *

Juliet took the long way home to give her ringing ears a chance to recover from their exposure to _The Changeling's_ blaring music, or, at least, that's what she told herself. It was convincing until she stood across the street from Rosaline's apartment building.

Her sister hadn't answered her calls - or responded to any of the owls she had sent - since the muggle-born trace became public knowledge. Juliet didn't blame her. Rosaline had fought for muggle-born rights ever since she realized possessing a heritage that didn't include the rest of the magical world was enough reason to be hated and discriminated against. She had stood in the arrivals lobby atrium for months with the rest of the protestors when the Registration Commission Act had been up for discussion in the Wizengamot.

The light was on in Rosaline's living room. Juliet's breath fogged in the air and mixed with the drifting snow as she crossed the street. She let herself in the building and took the stairs to the third floor.

She knocked on 319.

No one answered.

Juliet knocked again - trying not to be too loud. It was late, and Rosaline's infant daughter, Anna, might be asleep.

She leaned against the door and heard whispered voices. Her sister wasn't alone. The second voice was muffled and it wasn't Rosaline's husband Tom.

Juliet tried the doorknob. It was locked.

Rosaline yanked the door open with her wand raised, saw Juliet, and shoved it closed.

Juliet stuck her foot forward. "Ros! Wait!"

"Leave."

"Ros, I'm sorry about the trace. I didn't know." It was almost the truth.

_I didn't know Cass was going to tell our fucking boss and insure it made the front page._

"I don't want to talk to you, Juliet."

Rosaline never called her Juliet. It was an indication of how much their relationship had deteriorated.

"Ros, just let me come in so I can explain what-"

Rosaline used a charm to shut the door in Juliet’s face.

_Shit_

She tried to keep her voice level. "Ros, please. I'm so damn alone out here."

"Then stop working for The Ministry. Hand in your bloody Auror badge."

Juliet shook her head against the numbers affixed to the door. "I can't. I have to stop whoever is killing our kind, Ros."

There was no response.

"Ros, please. I'm trying to fix this."

The door opened. "They'll turn on you, too, one day - your damn Ministry."

"I don't have any illusions that they won't. My name is already on the registration list; right there with you and Cassio."

Rosaline's eyes narrowed. She looked past Juliet; confused and trying to remember something.

When she did, she said, "Cassio and you can both fuck off. You're shit Aurors. And you can't solve the murders."

She slammed the door. Juliet didn't wait, or try again.

She left the building and headed home.

Rosaline stood on the opposite side of the closed door and waited to see if their conversation had woken up Tom or Anna, but no sounds came from either bedroom. She slid the bolt into place.

_Leave it to Juliet to make me feel unsafe in my own home. I told her to stay away from me._

Rosaline walked back into her living room. 

Lara looked up. "Did she hear us?"

"I don't know, and she could be back. Nothing is stopping her from appariting right into my kitchen, apart from her fleeting respect for my privacy."

"Then I won't stay long."

"Lara, I want to get involved again. I do. But five kids died the last time we tried to get The Ministry's attention."

Lara shook her head. "Things are different now that Heston and Wright are dead. What happened with the train was a nightmare. You were right - none of us had control of the bloody mud-summoning spells."

Rosaline didn't say anything.

Lara leaned forward. "We have to intervene. Our people are dying, and Juliet is proof that The Ministry and the Aurors can't - and won't - do a damn thing to stop it."

A light went on in the bedroom and the bathroom door closed. Tom was awake.

"You have to leave. I don't want to explain anything to him tonight."

Lara stood up and wrapped her arms around Rosaline. "It was good to see you. Think about what I said."

"I will. Be safe, Lara."

Lara backed away from Rosaline. "You, too."

She put on her coat, opened the front door, and turned around. "Do you want Anna to grow up in this kind of world?"

"She might not even-"

"Rosaline, she will," Lara said, "and none of this will end until we make it stop."


	55. Tipping Point

**April 1989**

Aaron watched a maelstrom of shifting locations superimpose over the lake in front of him. Distorted music blared from his headphones; guitar riffs, fast drumming, and repetitive, screamed lyrics - a crescendo of anti-fascist noise. The chaos gave him control; shouting voices and loud instruments drowned out the world around him and made the ear-destroying sounds of folding space irrelevant. Moody had spent the last year telling him to pay attention; to take off the damn headphones and find another way to deal with the abrasive cacophony, but his current method worked too well, and it let him focus on the actual space manipulation without all of the deafening distractions.

The running had helped, too, and so had learning - and actually being able to use - magic. He could hold onto the layers without getting pulled between them, especially when they only consisted of nearby places; classrooms at Hogwarts, Hagrid's hut, and the Forbidden Forest. He could still feel the locations that were farther away - the park, the city street, the bathroom with the stained mirror, and The Burrow, to name a few - but he could keep them at bay and lose them in the words of defiance and protest that came from his cassette tapes.

For a few minutes at a time, anyway.

Aaron clasped the shackle over his wrist and wiped sweat off his forehead as the layers vanished. He turned the training wand on his chest and muttered _Tarda Nauseam_ until the bile in his throat receded. At least he hadn't collapsed or thrown up. It was progress, and it wasn't the only kind he was making.

Aaron was catching up to his classmates.

He had completed First and Second Year Charms - and First Year Transfiguration - before the end of the last school year. Thanks to some prodding from Moody, Flitwick and McGonagall had walked him through the material for Third Year Charms, and Second and Third Year Transfiguration, over the summer, and tested him in August to make sure he could do more than just get a block of wood to change color. It had taken a lot of time - and work. Aaron had spent hours alone in the library and the Gryffindor common room, going through textbooks and teaching himself spells; pointing the training wand at furniture until something happened. Eni had started leaving him notes in the kitchen, reminding him to take breaks. Charlie and Tonks kept asking when they would see him outside of classes again. He didn't know. He'd spent the past eight months doing nothing but studying on his own, trying to figure out charms and enchantments his friends had mastered years ago, running, and working in the kitchen and in the forest with Moody. He didn't have a lot of time for much else.

But the end was in sight. He had finished Fourth Year Charms before Christmas and tested out of Fourth Year Transfiguration over the spring holiday. If he kept up his pace, he would be ready for the O.W.L. Charms examination in two months. It was Fifth Year Transfiguration that was the problem. He had only been at it a month. He was behind . . . and total shit at it. The spell work was so bloody complex. It built on enchantments and charms his classmates could cast in their sleep. Aaron, meanwhile, had to keep going back through material from Third and Fourth Year lectures, and borrowing notes Tonks and Eni had saved, to understand anything McGonagall was saying.

_Right then. Time to see if I can use all of this new magical ability for something practical._

Aaron took off the shackle and set it on the ground. This wasn't going to be easy, if he managed it at all. He'd have to maintain the chemical composition of the iron while simultaneously transforming it into - what he hoped would be - something easier to remove and pocket when he needed to; a ring.

He wasn't mental though. He had brought an extra shackle in case it all went wrong. He'd left it on the grass behind him, next to _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration._

Now, he did take off the damn headphones.

Aaron recited the incantation and guided the training wand in a circle above the shackle. Nothing happened.

_Of course not._

_No._

_Don't give up._

_Fucking summon it._

He repeated the words and tore the wand in tighter loops.

The shackle vibrated. Aaron pulled at the air surrounding it until it was drawn into a vortex.

The shackle shrank. He worked the spell _come on_ until the restraint stabilized, and re-shaped itself into a ring.

Aaron picked it up, slid it on, and summoned the layers before they assaulted him.

Nothing happened.

_It worked._

Aaron laughed and stared at the ring.

_It actually WORKED._

Eni found him twenty minutes later, sitting on the ground with his textbook. He lowered his headphones and stopped the cassette tape as she walked up to him.

"How did it go?"

Aaron raised his hand.

Eni eyed the ring and smiled. "Told you, you could do it. Do you still want to test your reflexes?"

Aaron stood up. "If you still think you can hit me, Hand Magic."

Eni blushed.

"What? Is Lee the only one who can call you that?"

"I'm going to stop sharing the details of my love life with you, arsehole."

"No, don't," Aaron said. "If I don't live vicariously through you, I've got nothing."

Eni took out two cigarettes, lit both, and handed one to Aaron. She inhaled. "Lee wants me to go to London with her for the muggle-born protest in May."

"Told you she has a fetish."

"Her mum is muggle-born, too, idiot."

Aaron exhaled. "Are you going? It would be nice to get away from here for a weekend."

Eni nodded. "You should come with us. We can see what our kind are fighting for before our names are added to that damned list."

"I'll see what Lara says, but I think she's going to the protest, too, so no promises. Someone has to run the kitchen if you're both gone."

"It's important work. We don't want a house elf rebellion on our hands. They could lay siege to the pantry."

Aaron stomped out his cigarette and handed Eni the training wand. "I'm ready, if you are."

Eni tucked the wand into her back pocket. "Might as well give my own talents a workout."

Aaron shrugged and took off the ring. "If you insist."

He took a few steps away from her and smiled. "Still don't think you can hit me."

* * *

Charlie was on his second plate when Aaron sat down next to him, grabbed a dinner roll, filled it with roast chicken, and shoved it in his mouth.

Bill watched him from across the table. "Hungry much?"

"Missed lunch," Aaron said, mouth full.

Charlie asked, "What happened with the shackle?"

Aaron showed him the ring.

"Bloody well done, mate. It's a huge improvement over your 'just crawled out of Azkaban' look. Does it work?"

"So far. If I start looking unsteady, _Stupefy_ me."

Minerva McGonagall scanned the Gryffindor table until she saw Aaron. She walked up to him and handed him a letter.

"This came for you. It was delivered to the school's address in Hogsmeade by muggle post."

Aaron took the envelope. It had actual postage.

McGonagall walked away.

There wasn't a name, but he recognized the return address. The street in Glasgow was burned into his memory along with the telephone number and the names on the borrowing card inside _The Island of Doctor Moreau_. He tore open the envelope and leaned over the contents, facing away from Charlie and the rest of his house.

_Aaron,_

_It has been awhile, hasn't it? Almost five years? I hope all is well. I never heard from you after I sent the package in October. I thought maybe it upset you, or you were happy enough with your new life that you didn't care to respond, but then I was told that one of the interns addressed it to Albus Dumbledore, and not to you. You may want to check with him if you never got it. I found a book I should have given back to you years ago, and an old photograph of you I had saved in your file. I tucked it inside the book with another one I thought you might want. I got it from a colleague in our mental health department last summer. It's a picture of your mother._

Charlie looked at him. "Everything alright?"

Aaron's heart was in his throat. He read the rest.

_I never heard from you after you arrived at Hogwarts, so I assume all is well. The school sends me occasional updates, but I wish you would write me. You were always one of my favorites. I should have done more for you when you were younger. You deserved that. Nothing that happened was your fault. If you have any resentment toward me, I understand. I was young and naiveté myself, though that's no excuse. Make sure to take care of yourself._

The letter was signed by his social worker; Rachel Adams.

Aaron stood up and walked across the hall.

McGonagall sat at the faculty table, talking to Sprout and Flitwick.

Aaron Interrupted them. "Was there anything else?"

McGonagall looked at him. "It was just the letter, dear."

"There wasn't a package? It would have arrived in October. It was addressed to Dumbledore, but it was for me."

"If there was, whoever collected it in Hogsmeade may have left it in Professor Dumbledore's office."

"Can you check?"

"I'm afraid his office has been sealed off with wards since the end of November. Even I haven't been able to get inside, and things I need are in there."

Aaron still held the letter.

"I'm sorry, dear," McGonagall said. "I realize it is important to you for whatever reason, but it will have to wait until Professor Dumbledore returns."

Aaron walked back to the Gryffindor table and sat down.

Charlie asked him, "Are you alright? What was in the letter?"

"It's not important." But it was. What was he afraid of? If there was anyone he should be able to tell, it was Charlie. 

Aaron handed him the letter. "Read it, if you want. Some of my stuff from before I came here was sent to Dumbledore by mistake. It's probably in his office. McGonagall can't get in; there are wards."

"That's no sweat for you though," Charlie said. "Are you going for it?"

Aaron nodded.

"Want me to cover for you?"

"No," Aaron said. "Everyone's in here. They won't notice if I disappear for a bit."

"Do it then," Charlie said, "but watch yourself, yeah?"

"I will."

Aaron left The Great Hall and ducked into the first empty room he came to. He closed the door, took off the ring, and pulled himself into Dumbledore's office.

The phoenix startled him. Aaron ducked away from its perch and watched the sleeping bird in the dim light.

_What is it doing in here alone?_

When his eyes adjusted, he stepped around the chairs and walked up to Dumbledore's claw-footed desk. The top surface was covered with an unorganized mess of parchments, books, and unopened letters - all coated with thick layers of dust. Finding the package was going to be a pain in the arse. He should have grabbed the training wand from Eni.

Aaron looked through the closest stack of documents and books, trying not to disturb it any more than he had to. 

Fawkes shifted in his sleep. Aaron watched the bird for a second, and went back to his search. He didn't like being in here.

He was halfway though the mess when he turned too fast and knocked an envelope on the floor. Its contents spilled out and scattered at his feet.

Aaron looked down, and saw mutilated bodies; photographs from the muggle-born murder scenes. There had to be more than twenty of them. Cutout articles from _The Daily Prophet_ were mixed in with the photographs. The themes were clear; the Muggle-Born Registration Commission Act, the murders, and the attack on the train. There were also articles about Marcus Carrow; Carrow authoring the act, Carrow going missing, and the removal of Carrow's body from the abandoned Underground station.

Aaron felt sick. He slid the ring back on, remembering the smells of rot and decay.

_“One of the people on this list killed Carrow.“_

_Not one of them. Dumbledore._

_But no one knows were he is. Not even the Aurors._

Aaron bent down and shoved the photographs and newspaper clippings back into the envelope.

It took him another five minutes to find what he was looking for; a book-shaped package buried under a few weeks worth of mail.

He stared at it in the moonlight. The handwriting was different from the letter, but it had the same return address.

Aaron unwrapped the book. It was Orwell's _Nineteen Eighty-Four_.

He opened the paperback and turned to the Table of Contents. It _was_ his. His name was at the top of the page in messy eight year old handwriting.

Aaron leaned against the desk. The bent edges of two photographs stuck out from the center of the book. He took them out and held them up to the fading sunlight coming through the high windows.

His five year old self looked back at him from a swing in a school yard. He didn't seem excited to be wherever he was; holding onto the chains and refusing to smile for whoever had taken the picture. Aaron turned it over. Someone - probably Rachel - had written, _Aaron in Edinburgh, 1978._

He tucked it back into the novel.

Aaron stared at the next photograph; a woman with long, tangled blonde hair looked away from the camera. It was the first time he had ever seen his mother. He had never known what she looked like. They had the same nose, but not much else. He hadn’t inherited her green eyes. And she seemed -

_Sad. So fucking sad._

_Like no one ever took care of her either._

_Where the hell was our family?_

Aaron turned the photograph over. _Abigail Laurent, October 1973._

_What?_

_Her name wasn't Stone?_

The air displaced. Dumbledore appeared in front of Aaron with a _CRACK_ that made his ears ring.

Fawkes screeched. Aaron tucked the second photograph inside the book, and held it tight. Dumbledore leaned over him.

"Did you think I wouldn't be watching my own office?"

"No, I just needed to-"

"How did you break my wards?"

"I didn't."

Dumbledore grabbed his wrist and bent it at an unnatural angle. Aaron dropped the book and told himself not to scream.

"You lying boy. What dark magic have you been experimenting with?"

"I haven't been-"

Dumbledore shoved Aaron against the desk. Aaron pulled off the ring. 

Dumbledore hit him in the face. The impact broke his nose.

Aaron gasped and reached up. Blood ran down his fingers and onto his lips.

"Did you think you belonged here with the rest of them? The boy who couldn't use magic?"

Aaron summoned the hallway outside The Great Hall and pulled himself through. He leaned against the wall and held his bleeding nose, breathing hard.

He'd left the book with the photographs on the floor.

_I have to go back in there before he finds it._

_But not unarmed._

He walked forward until he was in sight of the Ravenclaw table. He got Eni's attention and waved at her to come out.

She met him in the hallway.

"Chikusho," Eni swore. "What happened to your face?"

Aaron wiped his bleeding nose with his sleeve. "Where's the wand?"

Eni took it out. "Tell me what happened."

Aaron shook his head. "Later. I have to go back in Dumbledore's office."

"Is he here?"

Aaron nodded.

"Did he . . . break your nose?"

Aaron nodded again and wiped more blood off his top lip.

"Fuck him." She grabbed his shoulder. "I'm going with you."

"No. He might still be in there. I'm just going to jump in and back out."

Eni handed him the wand. "I don't want you in there alone with him."

Aaron summoned the layer. He didn't see Dumbledore.

"Fine. Don't let go."

He _CRACK_ pulled them both into the office.

The old man was gone. So was the phoenix.

Aaron picked up his book and made sure the photographs were still tucked between the pages. They were.

"Will you tell me what happened now?"

"I was in here trying to find this when Dumbledore appeared. I should have known his damn portraits were watching the room."

Aaron tore off the bottom of his frayed shirt and held it against his nose. He felt sick. The layers were forming, and it hurt to move his wrist. He summoned the hallway outside The Great Hall and -

_Wait._

He could _see_ Dumbledore. In an abandoned house. He could jump there right now and – what? Confront Albus fucking Dumbledore with a training wand and a piece of t-shirt shoved up his nose? Not to mention the fact that The Ministry would see his trace as soon as he left Hogwarts.

Aaron jumped Eni back to the hallway and jumped himself to the owlery. He went to the table in the far corner, grabbed a quill, and wrote fast.

_Moody,_

_Are you still looking for Dumbledore?_

_I can find him._

_Aaron_


	56. Concerning Traits

**April 1989**

The house hidden in the forest outside of Godric's Hollow had been decrepit and empty the first time Gellert Grindelwald brought Dumbledore inside and showed him the curated collection of books he kept beneath the floorboards. Dumbledore spent the next two months reading - fascinated and obsessed with more than just the pages in front of him - on the floor next to Gellert while a warm breeze came through the open windows. He had been sixteen that summer, and he'd never read such detailed descriptions, instructions, and accounts on the use and practice of dark magic. Decades later, when Ariana was dead and Grindelwald had fled the country, Dumbledore went back to the abandoned dwelling, took the books, and brought them to Hogwarts. They were still in his office; secured inside a locked closet behind a veil of wards.

Dumbledore looked down at the removed flooring and the empty space below; dirt, cobwebs, and decayed wood framing were all that remained of Gellert's hiding place.

_Was that why Aaron was in my office? Was he trying to find the books?_

Tom had done the same thing.

Dumbledore picked up the bottle of fire whiskey he'd left on a dust-covered table.

_How did he get inside? He couldn't have broken my wards. For the longest time, the boy couldn't even use magic._

Dumbledore tipped the bottle and took a drink.

_Unless he hid his abilities. And taught himself how to use magic in private, at least until he lost control that first summer I was gone._

Tom had done that. He had hidden everything. Especially his experiments with dark magic.

_Is Aaron doing the same thing?_

Dumbledore's traumatized mind blurred Aaron Stone with Tom Riddle until all he was left with was a dark-haired orphan with secret abilities; a boy he had brought into the magical world before he knew anything about him, apart from the presence of his name in The Book of Admittance. He should have found out more about Tom Riddle before he approached him. If he had spent more time getting to the core of who Tom was - and destroying the sadist who was there - he might have been able to save them all.

He might have been able to stop the boy before he became Voldemort.

_Have I done it again? Have I made the same mistakes?_

Dumbledore took another drink.

_But Aaron and Tom are not the same._

_No._

_I don't know that._

Dumbledore set the bottle back on the table.

_I have to make sure._

Dumbledore disapparated and appeared in a hallway inside of a government office building in Glasgow. It was dark, but a light came from the office at the far end of the corridor.

Rachel Adams jumped when Dumbledore walked through her doorway. She yanked open the top drawer of her desk, where she kept her pistol. "Who let you in here?"

"You don't seem to remember me, Rachel."

"I remember you. Albus Dumbledore. Headmaster at Hogwarts. I still want to know who let you in the building."

"I let myself in."

Rachel wasn't sure if that made her feel better or worse. "Look, it's late, and you startled me. We've had some trouble with vagrants breaking in after hours and making a mess of things."

"I apologize," Dumbledore said. "It was not my intention to frighten you."

"What do you want?"

"I want to talk to you about Aaron Stone."

"Is he alright?"

"I have started to observe . . . concerning traits in Aaron. I was hoping you could tell me more about his background. The last time I was here, you told me his mother, Abigail Laurent, was mentally unwell."

"Yes, that's right."

"What, exactly, was wrong with her?"

"She heard voices and had delusions; talked to people who weren't there. And she tried to kill herself. I was told it was paranoid schizophrenia, and warned that it could be genetic, I just always hoped Aaron wouldn't get it. There was a chance he wouldn't. If Aaron is showing any signs of having what his mother-"

"Tell me about his father."

"I don't know anything about his father, and I'm not sure Abigail even knew for certain who he was. She left all of that information blank when she gave Aaron up."

"But the boy's name isn't Laurent."

"No, but the name Stone never had anything to do with a potential father. As I understood it, Abigail changed Aaron's last name to that of a distant family member before she turned him over to us. She didn't want Aaron to find her."

"What else do you know about the boy's family?"

"Nothing," Rachel said. "He's never had one."

"You must have more information."

Rachel walked past Dumbledore. She opened the bottom drawer of a filing cabinet and pulled out a folder secured with two dried-out rubber bands.

She handed it to Dumbledore. "This is everything I have on Aaron Stone."

Dumbledore opened the folder.

He saw the original copies of the guardianship papers he had signed five years ago. He had barely read them in 1984.

Dumbledore looked through the rest of the stack. There was a list of schools fifteen names long and worn pieces of notebook paper with over thirty addresses written on them. Some had been crossed out violently with a red marker and others had notes in black pen.

There were medical records. Aaron had been hospitalized in the summer of 1976 for severe dehydration and heat stroke. He'd been taken to an emergency room in 1981 with a lacerated arm. There were pictures of Aaron's stitched and bruised body, and a summary of trial proceedings involving an abusive foster parent.

The papers Abigail Laurent had signed in 1973 to give up her parental rights were on the bottom, along with a newer-appearing handwritten note on lined paper. It was the address of a mental hospital in -

"Is this right? His mother was admitted to a mental hospital in France?"

"Yes, that’s right. She’s part French," Rachel said. "One of my colleagues gave me that information last summer. For the longest time, I never knew where she was committed."

Dumbledore didn't look up. Rachel smelled alcohol on his breath.

"I'm releasing Aaron from your care," she said. "I will come collect him tomorrow."

"There will be no need for that."

"This isn't your decision," Rachel told him. Her top drawer was still open. "I will call the courts in the morning and inform them that you are no longer his legal guardian. I'll take him for an evaluation myself."

Dumbledore had to stop himself from strangling her the way he had Carrow. There were other ways to get rid of her, if she was going to insist on interfering.

Dumbledore _Obliviate_ raised his hand. Rachel's face went blank.

"Forget about Aaron Stone. As far as you're concerned, he never existed. Neither did Abigail Laurent. And I was never here - not now, and not in 1984."

He left Rachel's office. 

When he was in the hallway, he set Aaron's folder - and everything inside of it - on fire.

* * *

Dumbledore found a magical pub near the social services building. He paid the owner a few Sickles to use the fireplace, charged the international transportation fee to his Gringotts account, and took the Floo Network to Nantes, France.

He stepped out of the green flames in a shop that sold used brooms and nodded at the witch behind the counter; walked three blocks to the mental hospital where Abigail Laurent was admitted in 1973, ignored the posted visiting hours, and let himself inside.


	57. Whiplash

**April 1989**

The tastes of battery acid and spoiled milk lingered in the back of Aaron's throat as he jumped to a rooftop in Edinburgh. Alastor Moody wasn't there yet. Aaron walked across the gravel ballast and took a cigarette out of his coat pocket. He held it between his lips, raised the training wand, and muttered an incineration charm until the end caught.

Aaron inhaled and leaned against the half wall at the edge of the roof. He hadn't slept. After he'd sent the letter to Moody - and waited for five hours with no response - Eni made him go to the Hospital Wing and wake up Madam Pomfrey. By then, his wrist was swollen and painful, and his nose wasn't any better. Pomfrey asked him what happened. Eni made fun of him for tripping down the moving stairs. The healer looked at them both skeptically while she re-aligned Aaron's shattered bones and fused them back together. It had hurt - almost as bad as when they had been broken.

Aaron had spent the rest of the night - and most of the morning - alone in the Gryffindor common room with the ring off, watching space superimpose with a bucket nearby in case his stomach decided to turn on him. He used to think the places he saw were random, but they weren't. He never took locations off of people that they had passed through without incident. The strongest pulls came from places that seemed to hold some kind of emotional significance to whoever they belonged to; the bakery where Eni's father attacked her; Charlie's camp in the woods near The Burrow; and the park. Aaron suspected the last one was his, but he didn't want to face the sick feeling he got whenever he saw it.

The locations also had the strongest pulls immediately after he had physical contact with the person he'd taken them from. It was why he'd stayed on the floor in the common room until Moody wrote him back. He intended to hold onto the layers that were connected to Dumbledore - a graveyard with a statue of Death, an abandoned house, a visiting room at St. Mungo's, a closet filled with books, the Wizengamot dungeon, and a house on a muggle street - until the old man reappeared. He'd lost Dumbledore when he'd disapparated from the abandoned house.

The air in front of him _CRACK_ compressed and expanded.

Aaron flicked his cigarette on the ballast and stomped it out.

Moody wasn't alone. A young witch stood with him.

Moody looked at Aaron's bruised face. "What happened?"

"Dumbledore came back to Hogwarts," Aaron said, "and caught me in his office."

"What the hell were you doing in there?"

"Looking for something I needed, like a bloody idiot."

"Did that bastard break your-"

"I've got his locations," Aaron said. "There's more than when I pulled the abandoned Underground station off of him two years ago. I can't _not_ see them. They're strong."

"Good work," Moody said. "I'm sorry about your nose."

"I think he was drunk. He's really unhinged, Moody."

"I just need you to get us to Dumbledore. Juliet and I can do the rest."

"No," Juliet said.

Moody shot her a warning look. Juliet ignored him. "Moody doesn't want to risk your neck, what with you being only sixteen and all. I don't either, but if Dumbledore runs - if he apparates - we'll need you to help us find him. If you can really do what Moody says you can, it's the only way we'll have a chance."

"No," Moody said. "He'll get us to Dumbledore, and then he'll get himself the hell out of there. He's not a damn Auror."

"I wasn't either," Juliet said.

"That was different. He hasn't been trained to-"

"I can handle it," Aaron said.

"This isn't just trying shit out in the woods anymore, Aaron. We don't know what Dumbledore will do when we confront him. He might get violent."

"I've seen him get violent," Aaron said. "Juliet's right. If he apparates, I'm the only one who will know where he went."

Moody pulled Juliet to the side. 

Aaron couldn't hear the words they exchanged. He watched the Underground station merge with the city skyline. The graveyard and the Wizengamot dungeon followed. He swallowed the saliva coating the inside of his mouth. He'd kept the ring off too long.

Moody and Juliet walked back up to him.

"After you jump us to wherever Dumbledore is, stay behind us and do not engage him," Moody said. "If he attacks you, cast defensive spells only, or jump yourself away from him. Do you understand?"

Aaron nodded.

The layers shifted in his peripheral vision. Dumbledore appeared inside the abandoned house.

"I've got him," Aaron said.

"Where?"

"I don't know. He's in a dark room inside a house that's falling apart."

Moody and Juliet drew their wands.

"Take us there," Moody said.

Aaron grabbed Moody's shoulder - and Juliet's arm - and pulled them _CRACK_ through space.

Dumbledore raised his wand. "Get out."

Moody stepped forward, keeping himself between Dumbledore and his protégés. "You've been gone a long time, Albus."

"Leave me to my own devices, Alastor. And get these children out of here."

Even with the noon sun outside, it was hard to figure out where they were. The windows were coated with dust and grime.

"The last time we were together, you set the remains of the Hogwarts Express on fire," Moody said. "That same night, Marcus Carrow went missing from his home."

Dumbledore lowered his wand. "Is that all this is? Did you come here to confront me about the death of an anti-muggle-born bigot?"

"Is that why you killed him? For his intolerant beliefs?"

"How did you ever find his body?"

"You did kill Carrow."

Dumbledore laughed. "I don't believe you have any proof."

"I'll have your memories," Moody said.

"Of course," Dumbledore said. He looked past Moody. "You brought the girl with the magic touch."

"Albus, you're not well," Moody said. "You haven't been well in a long time."

Dumbledore ignored Moody and kept his eyes on Juliet. "You've come such a long way from Hogwarts; from being the wayward girl who used peoples' memories to torment them. Or, perhaps you haven't changed. Tell me, Juliet, is your sister still afraid of you? Does Rosaline keep you away from her daughter?"

Juliet kept her wand aimed at Dumbledore.

"And you, Aaron," Dumbledore said. "I see Poppy fixed your nose. Merlin knows you couldn't have managed the spell work yourself. Did you tell these Aurors who used you to bypass my wards that you can't actually use magic? That you inherited some dark power you have no control over?"

Aaron took a step forward.

"Don't," Juliet whispered to him.

Dumbledore smiled. "Do you want to tell them who you are, Aaron? Or should I? There's no secrets between us anymore. I went and found out everything."

"Leave them out of this," Moody said.

"Why don't you tell your charges how often you used unforgivable curses during the war, long before The Ministry approved doing so. It would have been understandable if you had only used them on Death Eaters, but when you wanted information - when you swore you were right - you cast unforgiveable curses against whoever was in your way, even if it meant torturing and killing your closest companions and associates."

Juliet stepped to the side and walked closer to Dumbledore.

"Albus," Moody said, "the war left us both scarred. Let me bring you in. I can get you help."

"The time for that has passed," Dumbledore said. "Where was the help for my students who died on the train? What is the count of dead muggle-borns at now, Alastor? Is it at fifty yet? How much has The Ministry skewed the numbers? Why did you decide to confront me when there are far more dangerous people opening the throats of those they have deemed to be undesirable?"

"Because you can't execute people, Albus."

Juliet had gotten behind Dumbledore. She shoved her wand into his neck and reached for his forehead. 

Dumbledore turned and hit her with a blast of light and force Aaron recognized from the night he'd ended up on the kitchen floor.

Juliet hit the wall, got the air knocked out of her, and raised her wand, sending a _BANG_ stunning spell at Dumbledore. Moody cast something Aaron had never seen before; a loud burst of energy that seared the air.

Dumbledore cast flash shields to block the incoming attacks.

Juliet cast _Expelliarmus._

Dumbledore lost his wand. And raised his hands. He sent duel arcs of lighting at Moody and Juliet; blinding flashes that shook the house.

Juliet tore her wand across her body and cast a shield, but not before Dumbledore singed her arm.

Moody met Dumbledore's attack with an electrical current of his own. The spells locked in the air and fought for control.

"I don't want to hurt you, Alastor, or the children you brought with you, but now you've interfered when you should have let things go."

Juliet's shield wavered against the assault. She strained to hold it in-place.

Aaron jumped behind Dumbledore, and grabbed him.

_CRACK_

They appeared in the forest clearing littered with piles of translucent dragon scales.

Aaron kept a firm hold on the old man's arm. He didn't try to summon a particular location. He let the layers take them wherever they wanted.

_CRACK_

They appeared in the kitchen at Hogwarts - vanished and appeared on the lawn in the park - disappeared and got pulled into the middle of a cobblestone road in Hogsmeade.

More locations came at them. A school playground with an unbalanced merry-go-round. An empty gymnasium. The house on the muggle street. A flat with walls covered with photographs, newspaper articles, and faded handwritten notes. A living room with terry cloth rugs. The train platform in Hogsmeade. The crowded city street.

Aaron superimposed the shifting realities and pulled Dumbledore into the center of the maelstrom, leaving them trapped between a dozen places at the same time.

The sharp fragments of sound from the fused locations made Dumbledore wince.

Aaron choked back saliva and vomit. He wasn't going to stop until Dumbledore looked as sick as he felt.

He shoved them inside his old hospital room at St. Mungo's - the barn behind the Hog's Head Inn - and back to the park. He held onto the rest of the layers while he jumped, rendering the world around them a blurred vortex of locations that spun out of control.

They tumbled out of the chaos and landed in front of a payphone. Dumbledore leaned over and lost the contents of his stomach. Disoriented, he wiped off his mouth and shoved himself away from Aaron.

Aaron raised the training wand as Dumbledore vanished.

_Fuck_

Aaron summoned the layers and watched Dumbledore appear in his office, breathing hard and leaning against his desk. Aaron stepped through, grabbed the old wizard, and pulled him onto the rooftop in Edinburgh.

Dumbledore grabbed Aaron, threw him across the gravel, and fired red blasts of energy at his head.

Aaron got to his knees and yelled, " _Protego!_ ", through a mouthful of spit and bile. He held onto the training wand with both hands and strained against Dumbledore's attack.

The driving force of Dumbledore's onslaught pushed Aaron backwards across the roof. His body scraped across the gravel until he collided with a cluster of mechanical equipment.

"You insolent boy."

Aaron's shield wavered. He couldn't maintain it much longer.

_I can't take him alone, either._

_Get back to Moody._

Aaron opened space and appeared behind Dumbledore. He pulled them into -

\- the Forbidden Forest.

He hadn't meant to do that. He was fatigued and losing control.

_Where's the bloody abandoned house?_

Dumbledore disapparated.

Aaron stumbled.

_No, shit, find him. Get off the ground and find him._

Aaron stood up, exhaled hard, and broke space apart.

He saw Dumbledore in the void between the forest and wherever he was headed, reached through and grabbed him mid-disapparition, and re-directed him to the _there it is_ abandoned house.

They tumbled out on the wooden floor.

Aaron collapsed.

Moody hit Dumbledore with _Petrificus Totalus_ and Juliet grabbed his head.


	58. Developments

**April 1989**

The narrow room that served as the infirmary for The Department of Magical Law Enforcement wasn't much bigger than the medical bed and the row of understocked cabinets it contained. There were no healers on staff. Aurors were expected to treat themselves for any injuries that weren't severe enough to warrant St. Mungo's.

Juliet ignited the overhead surgical lamps and held the back of her arm up to the mirror mounted on the far wall.

_Shit_

Her blistered skin had fused to the fabric of her shirt. She winced and pulled the material away from the wound, but she'd need something sharp to remove all of it.

Cassio appeared in the doorway. Juliet ignored him, went to the sink, and sterilized a scalpel. Cassio walked past her, reached into a cabinet, and took out a vial.

He handed it to her. "For the pain."

Juliet pulled out the cork and downed the potion.

Cassio leaned against the countertop next to her. "Burke told me you and Moody arrested Dumbledore."

_Of course she did. Is there anything the two of you don't share?_

"Jules, it's been months. Will you still not talk to me?"

She kept her eyes on her arm and cut charred remnants of shirt away from her damaged flesh.

"What happened, Jules? Why did you and Moody arrest Dumbledore? How did you even find him?"

"That's classified."

"Jules, you can't keep-"

"If I tell you what happened, the rest of the fucking magical world will know by tomorrow."

"That's not fair," Cassio said. "Burke was going to pull us off the muggle-born murders if I didn't give her something."

"So, you decided to tell her about the trace without consulting me, or even warning me first? We agreed that we would never tell anyone about the trace."

"We still have our ledger with the list of names. That stays between you and me."

"It doesn't matter," Juliet said. "You figured out how to track our kind. Someone else will. It's only a matter of time."

"I fucked up, is that what you want me to say?"

Juliet had never heard Cassio swear. In her memories, he had always been so fucking proper.

She tossed the scalpel into a metal rubbish bin. "It's a start."

Cassio handed her a jar of Star Grass Salve. Juliet took it, unscrewed the lid, and rubbed the balm into her wound.

"You did well obtaining so many forms of the metamorphmagus," Cassio said. "How did you manage it?"

"Someone they knew came forward."

"Who?"

Juliet pulled a roll of gauze out of a drawer. "Another metamorphmagus."

"I think it's time we started sharing information and working together again, don't you? We can't solve these murders working them from two different angles."

"What? You don't like working with Edward?"

"Edward is . . . sloppy," Cassio said. "I don't have the patience for his mistakes."

"That's disappointing. I heard he was brilliant."

"Burke would think so," Cassio said.

"I don't know what she thinks of him. Moody was the one who talked about Edward like he was a damn prodigy."

Juliet finished bandaging her arm and dimmed the surgical lamps. "Look, Cass, you're right. We won't get anywhere if we aren't doing this together. There are a few leads I need to follow up on tomorrow, and you should come with me. But right now, I'm going home. I haven't slept."

"I'll be back here first thing in the morning," Cassio said.

"Good," Juliet said. "Now, just keep our damn means and methods away from Burke, alright? If I can't trust my own twin, I will lose my goddamn mind."

* * *

The sofa Aaron woke up on – a battered piece of furniture shoved between the fireplace and a stack of magical artifacts in Moody's crowded living room – had seen better days. Tattered pieces of upholstery stuck out from the arms and cushions, and something was wrong with the back panel.

Aaron sat up and kicked off the patchwork quilt covering his legs. An empty bucket was on the floor next to him. He had a vague memory of waking up sick in the middle of the night, throwing up, and pulling the quilt over his head.

Moody appeared in the kitchen doorway, eating a plate of ham and eggs. "How do you feel?"

Aaron shrugged. He hadn't been awake long enough to decide.

"There's toast and beans on the stove. I figured that would be easier on your stomach."

"What happened?"

"You took Albus Dumbledore on what, I assume, was the ride of his life. Then you passed out and slept for eighteen hours."

"Where is he now?"

"Azkaban."

"Azkaban? I thought he had to be brought before the Wizengamot before he could be sent there."

"Azkaban is the only place that will hold a wizard as powerful as Albus Dumbledore. He will be brought before the Wizengamot as soon as they figure out how to try one of their own for the murder of a fellow member. It's unprecedented," Moody told him. "You should eat."

Aaron shook his head. "I have to get back to Hogwarts. I already missed all of my classes yesterday."

"I sent Minerva an owl. We have work to do. You're mine until Monday morning." He walked back into the kitchen. "Come on. I need to show you something."

Aaron followed him.

The far wall was covered with graphic photographs of muggle-born victims; pictures of decapitated bodies with mutilated foreheads, swollen faces, and stiff limbs slick with blood. Each photograph was marked with the deceased's name - if it was known - and the location where they had been found; kill sites written in dark ink - from Edinburgh and Glasgow to Oxford and London. It was a lot more than Aaron had seen on the floor in Dumbledore's office.

Moody covered two pieces of toast with beans and handed the plate to Aaron. "You'll never see any of this in _The Prophet_. I wanted you to know the full extent of what you would be getting involved with should you choose to keep working with me and Juliet."

Aaron took the plate and walked closer to the photographs.

"As much as I want you to, you don't have to do any of this, though I think you would make a damn good Auror."

Aaron faced Moody. "Why? Just because of what I can do? Is that the only reason you decided to help me?"

_Is that the only reason you care?_

_Or_

_Shit don't think that_

_Or, are you going to leave me, too, if I say no?_

"No, Aaron," Moody said. "What you can do put you on my radar, and I won't pretend it wasn't why I came to find you almost a year after we met at the hospital. But if space manipulation was the only thing you had going for you, I would have helped you figure it out so you could live your life, and told you being an Auror wasn't a good idea."

"What if I say no? If I don't want to be an Auror? Would you still waste your time in the woods with me?"

"Do you think that's the only reason I work with you?"

Aaron shrugged and looked down. He was mentally regressing back to his eleven year old self and he couldn't stop it. He hadn't realized how much having Moody take an interest in him had meant; hadn't wanted to admit to himself how wanted it had made him feel for once in his damn life.

Moody walked forward until he stood in front of Aaron. "If you don't want to be an Auror, that's fine. I'll still meet you right back in the woods. I'm not going to leave you struggling on your own. Do you understand that?"

 _Don't shut down._ Aaron nodded.

"I don't want you becoming an Auror for the wrong reasons. You won't survive, if that's the case."

"I know."

"You don't have to give me an answer now, either, you can-"

"I want to be an Auror," Aaron said. "I want to do what you and Juliet do more than anything. It's just . . . I'm not good with magic. I appreciate all the time you've spent trying to change that, but I don't know if I'll ever be good enough to be an Auror."

"Do you know how much magical energy it takes to manipulate space the way you do, Aaron? You _are_ good at magic. Get that through your head already. And what you can do is devastating."

"Well I'm shit at most everything else."

"You won't be shit after I'm done with you," Moody said. Aaron still held his plate of food. "Now, eat some of that so we can get out of here."

"Where are we going?"

"Diagon Alley," Moody said. "You need a real wand."


	59. War Paint

**May 1989**

Shouts and chants echoed off the brick and stone walls of Diagon Alley. Eni entwined her fingers with Lee's and let the taller girl guide her through the dense crowds. Protestors stood pressed up against one another to fit in the narrow passageways. It was the same once they reached the main thoroughfare. They walked between people, dodging elbows and signs.

_WE ARE THE NEW MAGIC_

_HUNT THE KILLERS NOT THE WITCHES_

_MAGIC DIES WITHOUT US_

_I'LL SEND BURKE A BIRD ALRIGHT_

The protestors wore muggle clothes - shirts with the names of muggle bands and cities - beneath modified robes patched with bright swatches of color and words laced with rebellion. They wore pointed witch hats and neon baseball caps - a hybrid fusion of cultures - and carried modified boom boxes on their shoulders, blaring hip hop, punk, and electronic music; loud, disruptive, and entirely muggle.

Eni bent down and picked up an enchanted piece of paper laying on the cobblestone. The picture on the bulletin changed, shifting through the known forms of the killer metamorphmagus. It ended with Adelaide Burke's face and the words _MAKE HER RESPONSIBLE._

A witch standing on an overturned cart used a spell to amplify her voice and yelled over the crowds. "WE ARE BEING TRACKED AND REGISTERED, BUT WHERE IS OUR REPRESENTATION? WHERE IS OUR VOICE? NO MUGGLE-BORNS SIT ON THE WIZENGAMOT. WE ARE BEING SILENCED. WE DO NOT HAVE ANY SAY IN WHAT BECOMES OF OUR LIVES. WE CAN'T STAND FOR THIS!"

Eni followed Lee. A wizard a few years younger than her gave her another handout as she walked past him. The enchanted images on the paper rotated through the faces of the muggle-born victims. Some had names. Others had never been identified.

They passed a group of protestors using markers to inscribe _M's_ on their foreheads and write slogans on their bodies; _MY BLOOD IS MUD, END THE TRACE,_ and _WHAT'S THE REAL BODY COUNT, BURKE?_

Eni walked past people who had covered their faces and arms with mud. The sight made her uncomfortable. It was too similar to how her body had looked during the attack on the Hogwarts Express. 

_Have they forgotten what happened?_

Eni sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and ran her tongue over the scar there; her reminder of just how real the train attack had been.

Lee pulled Eni in front of Ollivander's. A young witch stood on a stack of crates near the front door, holding a sign over the crowds that said _I AM A FUTURE MINISTRY COVER-UP_ and screaming. She was a Seventh Year, but Eni couldn't remember her name.

Lee climbed on top of the crates and reached down to help Eni up. The Seventh Year made room for them. Lee wrapped an arm around Eni's waist and held her close. 

From their new vantage point, Eni watched a group of young witches dance with each other in front of Flourish and Blotts; spinning in circles and chanting, "Witch, old witch, what do you drink? Apple cider vinegar and midnight ink!"

Two older wizards embraced, held a sign over their heads _LOVE YOUR MUGGLE-BORN_ , and kissed.

 _Yariman_ , her father had called her – slut. _Damare yariman_ – shut up, slut.

What would he think if he saw her, now? Standing on crates in the middle of a protest, surrounded by other possessed witches and wizards, with her girlfriend's arm wrapped around her body?

_He never will. He didn't want anything to do with me and he never will._

_THIS is my world now. And there's no deviants here._

The muggle-born Seventh Year lowered her sign and reached for a bucket of mud that was being passed through the crowds. She hoisted it up and set it on the crate between her and Eni; plunged her arms into the muck and covered her skin.

_They haven’t forgotten. They're reclaiming it._

The Seventh Year wiped mud on her forehead and raised her sign in the air.

Eni shoved her hands in the bucket and rubbed the mud on her arms; took a handful and covered her face with it.

Lee smiled at Eni, wiped the mud off her lips, and kissed her.

* * *

Emily Carrow stood in front of her chest of drawers and reached for the delicate necklace Marcus had given her when she turned sixteen. His wand rested next to a framed photograph. Marcus and Emily's likenesses laughed, standing on the back terrace of the Carrow family estate a few hours after their wedding ceremony. She had found his wand on his nightstand the morning after he went missing, when she came home from her trip to Beauxbatons - where she served on the board of directors - and found a nightmare. The bed she had shared with her husband for eighteen years had been left in disarray; his blood was smeared on the wall in the corner; and Amelia was on the floor by the window, shaking and crying. She had heard her father scream.

Emily hadn't recognized the mutilated body the Aurors had recovered one year later; the rotted, decomposed corpse that was all that remained of the man she loved.

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement had never released an official statement about her husband, but Emily had seen the bruises covering what was left of his arms and chest. She saw the dried blood trapped in the corners of his gapping mouth. He'd been tortured and executed in a damn muggle Underground station. 

The Aurors had filed her husband's murder away with the rest of their unsolved cases, but Emily knew the truth. A muggle-born - or a group of them - had killed Marcus. They had chained him to a column and decapitated him because he had authored the Registration Commission Act. They thought he hated them enough to pull a knife across their throats.

Marcus had never had the stomach to kill anyone. He didn't have the stomach for it in 1985, when he gave his wife the counter spells to break the wards on the Wizengamot dungeon. He told her he would never get involved. He was too close to the act, and he had never been the type to get blood on his hands.

Emily had never shared his reluctance. She had grabbed the muggle-born scribe herself that morning four years ago, scattering the stack of parchments he carried across the floor while Theshan and Adesh dragged in the three other paralyzed victims. 

_Where did they even find them?_

It hadn't mattered then, so long as they were muggle-born. Everything had been so much more complicated before the trace.

Emily had carved an _M_ into the scribe's forehead, severed his neck, and levitated his desecrated body into the air.

Marcus had believed in his act, but he had never been able to do what needed to be done.

Emily put on the necklace, opened the top drawer, and selected a knife from her collection. She slid it into the sheath she wore over her shoulder, raised a vial of gold and black fluid flecked with blood, and smeared the contents across her forehead.

_CRACK_

Emily appeared on a flat rooftop four stories above Diagon Alley, stepping into wards and concealment spells that had been cast by Theshan Nott.

Theshan stood at the edge of the roof and watched the crowds below. The sun was setting, but the muggle-borns were still all screaming, chanting, and dancing; writhing together like disobedient children.

Emily walked up to him and leaned over the parapet wall.

Theshan kept his eyes on the alley and pulled out a roll of parchment. He made it levitate in the air between them. Lights spread across the map like multiplying bacteria.

He said, "The whole muggle-born community came out for this protest; and I've cast the trace on them all."

"I admit that I doubted your strategy. It's clear now that it worked."

"It took too long for them to decide to do something about it."

Theshan compressed the map and tucked it back into his long coat.

The crowds dispersed as the sun disappeared. They left the alley laughing and shouting. They'd go to their muggle pubs and keep the celebration going late into the night.

Theshan turned away from the edge of the roof. "The locations of the new muggle-borns are already on the maps."

"Should I tell them to begin?"

Theshan shook his head. "I'll give the order myself tonight, after I've selected a few targets. I want this coordinated. Watch for my signal on your map."

Theshan disapparated.

Emily stood over Diagon Alley with her knife sheath pressed against her chest, and waited.


	60. Unbridled

**May 1989**

The florescent lights at the far end of the Underground car flickered until one of them died. Eni had managed to get most of the mud off her arms before they left Diagon Alley, but the rest had dried, hardened, and was still stuck to her face and neck, and tangled in her hair.

Lee smiled at Eni's dirty nose and forehead. "You look a sight."

Eni rubbed at a clump of dried mud stuck behind her ear. "I wouldn't mind a bit of help."

Lee looked around the car. Two wizards a few years older than them stood across the aisle. A woman on their right took off her pointed hat, hit it with _Reducio_ , and tucked it into her purse. Three excited muggle-borns laughed at the opposite end of the car and held onto the bars above their heads - loud, animated, and still intoxicated from the flask of fire whiskey they had passed around all afternoon. She didn't see any muggles.

Lee raised her hands. "Here, hold still."

Eni watched Lee concentrate until her hands radiated with a distinct white glow. She spread her fingers, tilted her palms toward Eni, and rotated her wrists. The remnants of dried mud covering Eni's neck and head dissolved. Lee was careful with her face. She used her index and middle fingers to trace the outlines of Eni's chin, mouth, nose, and eyes, removing the last of the dirt.

Lee's touch - ignited with goblin magic - was hot against Eni's skin.

Lee lowered her hands. "There you go."

"You've got to teach me more ways to control my hand magic like you do. The way you cast everything is so damn elegant."

Lee smiled. "I'll give you a lesson in the morning, but tonight is for fun."

She reached into her back pocket and pulled out the bulletin enchanted with the shifting forms of the metamorphmagus.

"I almost forgot." Lee folded the paper, and pressed it between her palms until it sprang back and unfolded itself. She handed the altered document to Eni. "This will get you through the front door."

Eni looked at the paper and saw her own face. Lee had turned the handout into a fake ID. "This is brilliant!"

Lee shrugged. "It's nothing, really. Oliver taught me the enchantment last year so I could get into shows with him when I was still seventeen."

"Lucky. I would love to go to a show."

"They'll be a lot of good bands in London over the summer. I can get us tickets for a show sometime when neither of us have work."

"If you do, I can pay you back."

"No, no," Lee leaned down and kissed her quick on the forehead, "I'd like to treat you to something."

"I don't deserve you."

"Oh, rubbish. I'm the one snogging a Hogwarts girl. You're out here slumming it with the London public school kid who had to get her father to put a transfiguration charm on her pointed ears every time she left the house."

The train arrived at the next station. Eni and Lee reached for the bar above their head as the car came to a stop. 

A mixture of muggle-borns and muggles boarded the train. A woman with long hair - wearing a tight, low cut dress beneath an open robe - walked past them and sat at the far end of the car.

They rode the Underground past three more stations.

There was a line when they walked up to _The Warehouse_ , but it moved fast. The bass from inside pounded against Eni’s chest while they waited on the sidewalk.

Lee paid the cover for both of them and Eni handed the bouncer her modified protest flier. He glanced at it and waved her inside with Lee.

Electronic music shook their bodies as they walked down the narrow hallway to the cavernous dance floor. It was loud, and dark apart from the red, green, and blue lights that flashed from the stage and the exposed steel framing two stories above their heads. Woman in short skirts and dresses, tight leather pants, and distressed jeans danced with each other, and with men who wore blazers and loose ties over t-shirts. There were side parts, feathered bangs, neon headbands, shaved heads, and teased-out waves full of volume.

Lee leaned into Eni's ear and yelled over the noise. "Do you want a drink?"

Eni yelled back, "I've never ordered a muggle drink before."

"I'll take care of it." Lee grabbed her hand and guided her through the crowds to the bar.

Lee walked forwards and leaned over the bar until she got someone's attention. She leaned farther over the bar to yell her request into the bartender's ear. The woman nodded, made two gin and tonics, and set them on the counter. Lee handed her a ten pound note, took the drinks, and passed one of them to Eni.

Eni took a sip and made a face. Lee said, "Here, squeeze in the lime and stir it up a bit."

Eni did and tried again. It was much better.

They hadn't bothered to eat since they'd left Lee's mother's flat that morning. Alcohol induced numbness spread through Eni's face and arms. She nodded her head to the pulse of the music.

The woman from the train was on the dance floor, dancing close to a man with white trainers. She no longer wore the robe.

Lee set her empty glass on a stack of crates and took Eni's hand. Eni left her glass with Lee's and followed her into the writhing mass on the dance floor. They made their way deep into the crowd. The house music pounded in time with her heartbeat as Lee pressed against her. Lee spun her around and pulled Eni's hips against her waist. They matched their rhythm to the music and moved together without any space between them.

The crowd pressed in tighter. Lee's right hand wandered from Eni's waist to her upper thighs and brushed against the front of her skirt. Lee kissed her neck, released two buttons on her skirt, and stuck her hand inside.

_Damnnnnnnnn_

It was too dark - and too crowded - for anyone to notice, or care.

Lee slipped her hand out after Eni moaned and guided her through the mass of bodies. She took her down a hallway that lead to the ladies room. They stopped before the line, in a dark alcove halfway down the hall. Lee backed into the wall, pulled Eni against her, and sucked Eni's bottom lip into her mouth. Eni tugged Lee's zipper down and reached between her legs. Lee reached beneath Eni's shirt and lace bra.

Whoever saw them didn't care.

There was nowhere to stand when they made it back to the dance floor. Eni's face was entirely numb now - with satisfaction, another gin and tonic, and absolute bliss. This time, she guided Lee through the crowds to the middle of the room.

The disc jockey added a brand new _Madonna_ song to the pulse of his house music. Eni closed her eyes and moved with the music.

When she opened her eyes the woman from the train stood in front of her. The woman leaned into her. "Fancy a dance, love? I saw you watching me before."

Eni looked at Lee, but Lee just smiled and kept dancing. Eni danced with the woman and Lee, watching the colored lights move over the people around her.

The crowd jostled her. Eni kept dancing.

Until she lost sight of Lee. Eni stood on her tip toes, but she couldn't see over anyone's head.

The woman leaned down, "Are you alright, love?"

"I don't see my girlfriend. She was right-"

The woman took her hand. "Let's find her."

Eni looked for Lee as they shouldered their way through the masses.

_Where did she go?_

If the charm on her ears faded, she might have ran to the ladies room to re-cast it.

The woman guided Eni down a hallway, but it wasn't the same one she had been in earlier with Lee.

Eni stopped. "No, wait, I don't think she went-" but the woman grabbed her wrist and pulled hard.

"Stop," Eni said, but the woman wouldn't let go of her. She pulled Eni down the hallway.

_No_

_Shit_

The woman's body contorted and shifted in the dark - the tight dress tore. Eni screamed and pulled on her own arm, trying to get free, but it was too loud for anyone to hear her.

The woman transformed into a man, who yanked her out the back door into an empty alleyway. Eni screamed. The man covered her mouth. "You're making this harder than it has to be, darling. We had a nice dance together, didn't we? I know you liked my dress. Now, if you stop fighting me, I'll be quick about it."

Eni writhed and kicked. Her ears rang from the loud music. The man reached into her boot and pulled out the protruding training wand. He snapped it in half and tossed it on the pavement. His face remained in a constant state of flux; moving between masculine forms. She had seen shifting like this before - whenever Tonks changed her features through a series of playful faces while they all laughed, tried to guess who she was, and asked her to do it again.

What her assailant was doing wasn't transfiguration and it wasn't charm work. This was Kayal Rowle; the killer metamorphmagus.

_Stop panicking and FUCKING FIGHT THEM_

Eni sent burning heat into her forearms, through her palms, and into each finger. The force of it shook her body.

She didn't think of a spell; she released pure, unrestrained energy.

The force sent the metamorphmagus flying across the alleyway into a wall. They landed hard, recovered, and pulled out a wand. And a knife.

Eni sent another wave of force out from her hands. She pushed until her assailant was up against the wall with their arms pressed into the brick; until the brick separated and fractured and they screamed, still shifting through forms. Eni twisted her hand, faced her palm toward the sky, and raised their body into the air. If they were trying to use their wand, she couldn’t tell, and she didn't drop her hands to find out. 

Pieces of brick broke off under the killer's body. They screamed. Eni pushed until she heard bones break. She didn't want to take the chance of having this sociopath come after her again.

She raised the broken metamorphmagus higher, until their body crashed into the rooftop of the adjacent building.

Eni released her hold on them and ran back into the club; back to find Lee. 


	61. En Masse

**May 1989**

A fourteen year old wizard from the Durmstrang Institute attended the protest with his older brother and his sister in law. After he said goodnight to his family, the boy made the mistake of walking alone from the Kenton Underground station to his muggle friend's house. He didn't start out alone. He walked with groups of muggle-borns for a few blocks, until the crowds faded and a single old woman walked behind him. She appeared haggard, with thin grey hair and wrinkled skin, but she walked fast. When the boy turned a corner, the old woman appeared in front of him with a loud _CRACK_ and pushed him against the wall with skeletal arms, her strength amplified by a muscle augmentation charm. The boy screamed, but no one heard him. The old witch hit him with _Petrificus Totalus_ and carved up his forehead. As she rent the knife through his throat, his last thought was that his muggle friend would never know what had happened to him.

* * *

Adelaide Burke didn't walk home. She apparited from her office into her living room, where her seven year old son embraced her. She dismissed the boy's nanny and promised to pay her tomorrow. Adelaide forgot to stop by Gringott's and she was too tired to go downstairs and open the safe. Her son pulled on her arm until she sat at the edge of his bed and read to him from _Grimm's Fairy Tales_.

* * *

Adelaide Burke's nanny, a forty-seven year old witch with three sons and two daughters of her own, walked home alone every night. She didn't mind; the streets in Burke's neighborhood were well lit and filled with muggles. She forgot about the protest until she arrived at the Underground, rode the line for three stops, and watched mud-covered bodies squeeze into the train car with her. She had wanted to go, but she needed money more than she felt the need to stand in Diagon Alley all day with a cardboard sign and her worn out wand. 

She rode the Underground for two hours and fell asleep in her seat, leaning against the window, until familiarity shot her awake. By then, the train car was empty. She didn't notice the man who followed her, and didn't know his name was Adesh Selwyn. He paralyzed her body in the empty Underground station; in a dark walkway between the platform and the exit.

Her oldest daughter identified her five days later, sobbing while her father drank himself into the hospital.

* * *

After her son was asleep, Adelaide made tea and sat in her library. _The Evening Prophet_ was filled with dozens of articles about the day's protest. She crumbled it and tossed it in a rubbish bin after she saw photographs of mud-covered muggle-borns burning an effigy of her.

 _I am doing all I can_ , she promised herself.

She drank more tea and flipped through a magazine filled with muggle clothes, purses, and shoes.

* * *

Theshan Nott altered his appearance with a transfiguration charm - giving himself a beard and changing the shape of his nose - before he followed a ten year old girl into a convenience store. Her older brother waited for her on the curb across the street, lighting a cigarette. He didn't want her to go to the protest with him, but he wasn't home from Hogwarts often, and his parents told him to spend some time with her and show her his world. It would become her world soon, too. She had started to exhibit the same abilities he had at her age – making things float in the air and opening locked doors.

The girl opened the freezer and reached for two soda pops. Theshan used _Stupefy_ on the attendant and grabbed the girl. He slit her throat inside the walk-in freezer.

The girl's brother saw her dangling feet through the rows of cans and bottles when he reached into the freezer fifteen minutes later for a drink, thinking his kid sister had gone home without him after she didn't come back.

* * *

It took her longer than she thought it would, but Lara broke the ward on Adelaide Burke's house. She pulled a mask over her face. Rosaline did the same and walked ahead of her, unlocking the front door with a flick of her wand. They entered the house without making noise and walked through the dark foyer. Light came from the kitchen and the second floor hallway, where Burke had left a lamp lit on the table outside of her son's bedroom.

Rosaline went upstairs. She made sure Burke's son was asleep, cast a noise-blocking charm over his room, and enchanted the door to remain locked from the outside.

Burke was pouring herself a third cup of tea when Lara walked into the kitchen. Burke dropped her cup. It shattered on the floor. Burke raised her wand.

Lara hit her with _Expelliarmus._

Burke's wand tore out of her hand. Lara hit her with a spell that pushed her into the cabinets. Burke's head cracked against one of the panels. Lara lifted Burke's body into the air and brought her down into a kitchen chair. Burke tried to grab her, but Lara paralyzed Burke's arms with an incapacitation charm and lashed her to the chair with the iron chain.

Lara's voice came out distorted from the voice altering charm her and Rosaline had used. "What was it you encouraged us to do? Send a fucking owl if we were concerned or fearing for our lives?"

She pushed her wand into Burke's neck. "Isn't this better?"

Burke didn't say anything.

"That's right," Lara said, "silence is The Ministry's best policy on the muggle-born killings, after all."

"I am doing everything in my power to stop the killings," Burke said. "I understand your frustrations."

Rosalind walked into the kitchen.

"We are past the point of frustration," Lara said. "We are here for resolution. Do you have any idea what it is like to be muggle-born right now?"

Burke was silent.

"No," Lara said. "How could you? You live here behind your wards, inside the house passed down to you through generations of your pure-blood family. You think you understand, because you married a muggle when you were younger, but you divorced him, cut him off from the magical world, and kept his child from him. You don't want muggle-borns to be a part of this world any more than you wanted your muggle husband to be a part of yours after you decided you were done with him."

"You are all a part of this world."

"No, Madam Director," Lara said, "muggle-borns exist on the edges of this world. When we're children, and our abilities manifest with no warning, we are left to conclude that we are crazy, possessed, or, at least, odd. Then, you barge in and take us away from our families, show us a wonderful alternate universe of wonder and power, and spit us back out after you've brainwashed us all into being good little citizens."

"What else do you expect us to-"

"I wasn't finished," Lara said. "Tell us about the trace and the registry."

"I am not directly involved with the tracking and registration of muggle-borns."

Rosaline stepped in. "You're the head of The Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"Yes," Burke said, "but I'm not the one writing your names down in a ledger."

"You are the one with the authority to stop the trace and destroy the registry."

"That won't happen," Burke said, "not until the killers are caught. It is for your own protection."

"It is giving the killers a list of targets." Lara pressed her wand into Burke's neck. "Destroy the trace and the registry, if you want us to leave your house."

"It's out of my hands," Burke said.

Lara thought of Sam, spiked apple cider, and a snow covered street in Edinburgh. She hit Burke with _Crucio._

Burke's body twisted against the iron chain and the kitchen chair. She wasn't a damn Auror. She had never been trained to resist the Cruciatus Curse. She had accepted the director position when the war was over because they promised her the role would be limited to oversight; that everything could be accomplished from the comfort of her office chair.

Lara thought of the playground where her and Sam had raised their palms over their heads and made flowers dance through the air. She kept her wand raised until Burke bit through her tongue.

"Destroy the trace and the registry of muggle-born names, and I will stop."

Blood ran from Burke's mouth. She screamed and writhed.

Burke thrashed until the chair fell over, leaving the side of her body and face pressed against the tile floor.

Lara stopped the curse.

"The trace isn't my creation," Burke said. "It is the trade secret of one of my Aurors. I don't know how it works. The list of names is kept from me, by the Aurors who are tasked with finding the killers. I can't-"

"What kind of fucking Aurors do you have on staff that you don’t know what they are doing?"

"Muggle-born ones," Burke spat.

Rosaline's raised hand wavered. Her sister was the first muggle-born Auror The Ministry had accepted in a decade.

_Juliet. It's Juliet's trace._

"I know you have the authority to destroy the trace," Lara said. "But God and Merlin forbid you do anything that us common mudbloods ask of you."

Lara thought of the day Sam's mother called her - the day Sam was found dead inside of her apartment. The Ministry hadn't done a fucking thing; no Aurors had investigated her friend's murder, even though it was identical to those committed inside the Wizengamot dungeon a few months earlier. Instead, The Ministry pretended it never happened. Samantha had died outside of the wizarding world, as a muggle-born who had escaped her stationed second-class life. No one at The Ministry gave a shit. 

Sam's casket had been closed at her funeral. Her body had been too mangled to display.

Lara unleashed the Cruciatus Curse again. She kept her wand raised, even after Burke broke, screamed, and swore. Lara was surprised that Burke’s pain gave her satisfaction. It was about more than the trace for her, she realized - it was about the way Burke and The Ministry had handled the muggle-born murders since the beginning. Not prioritizing them, because it didn’t affect them. People like Burke were the reason they had to march in the streets - the reason they were dying - and Lara wanted her to be affected.

She let the Cruciatus Curse run rampant until it warped Burke’s mind. Rosaline didn’t stop her. She had loved Sam, too.

_Let her know what it feels like to be left on the outside; living on the edges of this world. Make her wish we had been a priority._

Six hours later, Burke was found catatonic, wondering the street in front of Purge and Dowse, LTD.


	62. Sandbox

**May 1989**

Encroaching fog and darkness bisected the hallway before the world skipped forward, leaving Juliet staring out through the eyes of a three year old in a sandbox. Disoriented, she looked down at a colorless pail and shovel; toys stripped of their details thanks to time. A small hand reached forward and pushed at two dolls laying in the sand. The dolls vibrated as though they were attached to strings, and drifted up into the air, where they floated above her head. The child laughed.

 _Where are we?_ Juliet asked.

The child didn't understand.

 _Who are you?_ Juliet asked.

She heard, _ADI. I'M ADI._

_Where are you, Adi?_

Adi laughed.

_Adi, show me more. Show me your son. Show me your house._

It was useless. There was nothing except dark hallways, the sandbox, and a dense fog floating behind the dolls; a distant storm threatening to overwhelm the child.

Inside the mind, fog indicated distortion, suppression, and memory loss. Fog was where whatever had been conscious thought existed in a fragmented state, often damaged beyond repair.

Juliet left the girl in the sandbox and stepped into the fog. It pressed against her mind. She had to work fast. If she spent too much time prying at the fog, it would distort and erase her own memories.

Juliet didn't waste time pulling out images; she felt for the gateways to memory – sounds, tastes, and smells. The most recent would be in the upper atmosphere. Juliet lifted herself through the fog and caught the odors of chamomile and mint tea. Burke always took her tea the same way at work, but she saved chamomile for nights at home. Juliet followed the smell until it merged with a strong taste. Blood. In Burke's mouth. 

Burke's voice said, "This woman was no woman at all – she was an evil witch!"

_What?_

"Hansel sat anxiously thinking of a way to escape."

It was _Hansel and Gretel_. Burke was reading _Hansel and Gretel_ to her son.

_Come on, Burke. Give me something._

The next voice was distorted. "Destroy the registry."

Juliet reached for more, but the fog became a sludge against her mind.

"Destroy . . . registry."

". . . regis . . . try."

The odors of chamomile and mint faded; the taste of blood dissolved. The sludge of Burke's broken mind seeped into Juliet's head.

Juliet's mind was overwhelmed. She accessed her memory key; the six memories she used to ground her reality. 

_Reaching for Rosalind's hand in the back yard. Mum dying. Learning to drive with Dad. The dead boy in the lake._

_Two more. Ignore the fog. Remember the last two. Keep your thoughts intact._

_Becoming an Auror._

_Yesterday, I was in my flat in London._

Juliet pulled her hands off Burke's head and retched on the floor. She coughed until a healing assistant touched her back.

For a second, she didn't remember where she was. The fog had torn at her brain - and maybe damaged its edges - but the memory key assured her that the essential parts were intact.

Juliet wiped her mouth.

"Are you alright? I can call for-"

Juliet stood up. She was at St. Mungo’s. Adelaide Burke sat in a chair by the window, staring vacantly at the ceiling, and moving her hands through the air; trying to make dolls fly.

"I'm fine," Juliet said. "You can put her back under the calming spells."

The healing assistant nodded and raised his wand. 

Juliet left the room. She held onto the walls until her head cleared.

_That was too fucking close._

Juliet walked to the reception area, disapparated, and appeared at The Ministry of Magic. She walked through the arrivals lobby; past employees and visitors. When she reached the second floor, she staggered and leaned against the wall. Appariting hadn't done anything to improve the lingering sickness from spending too much time in Burke's fractured mind.

"Are you alright?"

A red-haired man walked toward her.

"You seem a bit out of sorts," he said. "You should sit down if you're not feeling well."

"I'm fine," Juliet said.

"Here," the man opened a door, "sit in my office if you’d like."

Juliet looked at the name on the door and shook her head. "Thanks, Arthur, but I'll be alright."

Arthur went into his office, took the pitcher from the end of his desk, and poured a glass of water.

He passed it to Juliet. "Even so. Drink this."

"Thank you," Juliet said. She took the glass and downed the contents.

"You're an Auror," Arthur said. "I've seen you around."

Juliet handed the glass back to Arthur. She felt bad that she had never noticed him before. He seemed considerate.

"Do you know when Burke will be back?"

_At least what happened to Burke isn't common knowledge yet._

"She will be gone for the foreseeable future," Juliet said. "Do you need something?"

"I've just left two young women in her office," Arthur said. "I didn't know where else to bring them. There wasn't anyone around and I thought Burke would be back soon, or I could find someone else to help them."

"What do the young women want?"

"They said they were attacked by the metamorphmagus you lot have been searching for."

_Holy shit_

Juliet walked past Arthur. "Thank you. I'll talk to them."

"They seemed upset. If I can help-"

"You already have," Juliet yelled back to him down the hallway.

Juliet walked into Burke's office. She walked past the girls and reached for the pitcher of water on the table in the corner. She could still taste bile in the back of her mouth.

One of the girls, the short one with black hair, said, "Excuse me. Are you Adelaide Burke?"

Juliet shook her head and finished the glass of water. "I'm not. I'm Juliet Walker. I'm an Auror overseeing the muggle-born murder cases. What are your names?"

"Eni Iro."

"Lee Zyc."

"You were attacked by the metamorphmagus? The one we're looking for?"

"Yes," Eni said. "At least, we think so. They tried to kill me."

Juliet set the glass on the table. "Where?"

Lee said, " _The Warehouse._ It's a dance club out in-"

"I know it," Juliet said. "Tell me what happened."

Lee and Eni recounted everything from the protest to the Underground and trying to find each other again inside the crowded club.

Juliet nodded as they spoke. She'd have to check the club, the alleyway, and the roof of the adjacent building as soon as possible. 

"I know I'm not supposed to use magic outside of school," Eni said. "I know you'll want to reprimand me, but I don't care. They were going to kill me."

Juliet poured another glass of water and handed it to Eni. “I don’t care, kid. You were defending yourself. It's not my job to lecture you, and you won't hear about it from anyone else."

_Christ. I sound like Moody._

Eni drank the water. Juliet leaned against Burke's desk. "You both did the right thing, at the club and by coming here."

She looked at Eni. "I'll need your memories so I can get the forms the metamorphmagus took when they were with you. I can do it by touching your head. I won't need to extract anything that can be kept in a vial and reviewed by The Ministry, so your privacy will remain somewhat intact. I'll need you to focus on what happened as clearly as you can. Don't leave anything out."

Eni bit her lip.

"Whatever is in your head is yours, not mine. I won't keep anything that isn't related to the metamorphmagus."

"I don't know," Eni said.

"I've seen a lot of things in peoples' heads. Nothing in your mind will surprise me. And I won't hold anything against you. Who you are is no one's business but your own." It was the same speech she gave everyone.

Eni glanced at Lee, who nodded.

"Alright," Eni said.

Juliet didn't much care if her mind was or wasn’t ready for another excavation. She raised her hands and pulled herself into Eni's head.

The girl's thoughts were saturated with saccharin and alcohol; happiness and excitement. Juliet went along for the ride; through the pulse of music, the heat of the crowds, the taste of gin and tonic, and an intimate moment in a dark hallway. 

Juliet watched until-

_FUCK_

She forced Eni's memory back, to when the metamorphmagus broke the girl's wand. Their face changed through a quick series of masculine forms. For just a second, she saw a face she recognized, if only in passing. It was enough.

_If they have been using his form, then they have been watching us since the beginning. They could have walked through the front door of The Ministry anytime they wanted._

The face she saw belonged to Edward Burton; the Auror Cassio had worked with when Juliet had stopped talking to him. 

_How often has Edward not been Edward?_

_Is Edward even alive?_

Juliet pulled herself out of Eni's head. She had to find Cassio.


	63. Undated

Edward Michael Burton was quiet. He said all of ten words to his classmates - Samantha Jones, Lara Evans, and Rosalind Walker - during the seven years the four of them spent at Hogwarts. He spent most of his time alone in the library, or up in the North Tower, researching wizarding law and smuggling muggle true crime books and newspaper articles into the school.

When Edward left Hogwarts in 1978 to become an Auror, the wizarding world was torn apart and covered with blood; consumed by a war that had raged since the beginning of the decade. Being muggle-born in 1978 was dangerous, but it was worse to be a blood traitor, or to directly oppose the dark wizard who imprisoned, tortured, and killed the people who stood in his way. Edward wasn't afraid. He was a half-blood who had spent a lot of time reading about dictators; Hitler, Stalin, and Zedong. Voldemort didn't seem to be much different.

After passing the Auror qualifying exams with some of the highest marks ever recorded, Edward spent three years training under Alice Longbottom. He started to work on his own in 1981, two weeks before his mentor was tortured to the point of insanity. Edward wasn't supposed to be a part of the team that hunted down the Death Eaters who had been responsible for the permanent incapacitation of Alice and Frank Longbottom, but he argued with Alastor Moody until the old Auror gave in. When the team found Crouch, Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and Rabastan, two of the five Aurors were maimed in the ensuing battle. Moody captured Crouch and Bellatrix. Another Auror captured Rabastan. Edward tackled Rodolphus Lestrange in a forest after a bloody chase that left them both exhausted, and used a charm to secure iron shackles around the Death Eater's wrists. He escorted the terrorists to Azkaban with Moody.

After the war, Edward met a muggle woman in a London cafe in 1982 and married her in 1984. He never told her about the wizarding world, not wanting to endanger her or pull her into the carnage that tended to follow his profession. He told The Ministry to never contract him by owl – use a muggle telephone, or nothing at all. Ring twice. Hang up. I will come in immediately.

In the summer of 1987, Edward was called into The Ministry on a Saturday morning to find a Third Year Hogwarts student who had apparited all over the damn country. Edward spent the day working with Cassio. They started at a park in Glasgow, where an empty parking lot overlooked a lawn, walking paths, a pond, and new rubbish bins and metal benches. In 1976, when three and a half year old Aaron Stone was trapped in a hot car in the parking lot, the park had been a much different place; a dangerous park frequented by desperate people, trashed and vandalized by the same.

After Cassio and Edward completed the list of places where the boy's trace had been picked up, and after they heard from Moody that the boy was at St. Mungo's, Edward went back to London with Cassio. He phoned home and asked his wife if she needed anything from the grocer. Coffee beans. And, could he get milk, too? 

Edward stopped at the grocer, but he never made it home. Someone at The Ministry had told Kayal Rowle where he lived. Kayal had followed Edward for two weeks. Kayal knew the grocer Edward frequented and the streets he took home. Kayal hit Edward with _Petrificus Totalus_ , dragged him into the dark doorway of a tailor shop, and strangled him. Kayal tore apart Edward's body and used the blasting curse in ways it never should have been used. Four months after Edward was dead, the tailor found pieces of flesh that he never suspected were human.

Kayal copied Edward's form, picked up the paper bag filled with milk and coffee beans, and walked through the front door of Edward's house. Kayal had dinner with Edward's wife, and slept with her for three days before she became suspicious. Then, Kayal killed her, too.


	64. End of the Line(age)

**June 1989**

The ninety-four year old woman who sat across the desk from Juliet looked delicate; made of glass bones, paper-thin tissue, fraying ligaments, and protruding veins. Her hands shook as she lowered the cup, filled with Earl Grey and two lumps of sugar, from her mouth. Juliet resisted the urge to cast a steadying charm on the ancient witch as the ceramic cup rattled against its saucer.

"You're muggle-born, aren't you, dear?"

"I am."

"Isn't that something? When I was your age, muggle-borns weren't allowed to work for The Ministry in any capacity. It is good to see signs of progress."

Progress was precisely what Juliet wanted from the old woman. The name Enir had given her in January – Kayal Rowle – had been a dead end. Juliet had spent the past five months tracking down and speaking with members of the Rowle family. None of them knew who Kayal Rowle was. They showed her family records, marriage licenses ensuring the pure-blood status of various unions, and obituaries saved from _The Daily Prophet_. When the family's documentation failed her, and when certain family members refused to talk to a muggle-born Auror, Juliet went through the pure-blood lineage records maintained by The Ministry. When those didn't yield any results either, she looked through wizarding school records. And found nothing. Who the fuck was Kayal Rowle?

And, how long had Kayal Rowle been taking the form of Edward Burton? 

After Edward failed to respond to Juliet's telephone call signals, and hadn't shown up at The Ministry for more than three days, Juliet decided to disregard Edward's instructions to never blur the boundaries he had maintained between his Auror life and his personal life, and went to his house with Cassio. As soon as they were inside, it was clear that no one had lived there for a long time; a pile of unopened mail covered the front entryway floor; dust coated the walls and light fixtures; and, the rancid odor of rotten food assaulted them from the kitchen. They didn't find Edward, but they found the decomposed body of Edward's wife, Anna, shoved inside a locked freezer in the basement. The freezer had lost power in the fall of 1987, when the electric company had stopped service due to a lack of payment. The smell of the corpse - combined with the smells from the kitchen - left Juliet vomiting on the front steps until her eyes watered.

Edward hadn't been Edward in a long time.

And Kayal Rowle didn't seem to exist.

At least, not until Constance Rowle walked into The Ministry of Magic and asked for Juliet by name.

"It is lovely that a young muggle-born witch, such as yourself, has choices these days," Constance said. "I never had choices, even as a pure-blood. My family made me marry Jacob Rowle to preserve the pure-blood lines, even though Jacob was my first cousin and we shared a grandfather. I had seven children with him. And, not a damn one of them, or any of their damn children, ever come to see me anymore."

Juliet said, "Mrs. Rowle, you said you recognized the name on the wanted posters?"

"Yes, I recognized the name," Constance said. "Only, when I saw the posters, I thought you lot had gotten it wrong. Your metamorphmagus and the Kayal Rowle I knew cannot be the same person."

"Why is that?"

"Because Kayal Rowle was my grandfather's sister. She died almost a century ago."

"Is there a death certificate?" _Or, a corpse?_

"Not as far as I am aware," Constance said.

"Was your Kayal Rowle a metamorphmagus?"

"If she was, I was not aware of it. There was a stigma back then, you know, even in the wizarding community. Everyone said metamorphmagi were unnatural."

"Are metamorphmagi common in the Rowle family?"

"I am not aware of any metamorphmagi in the Rowle family."

"Are there any more family records I could look through to try to find more information about Kayal Rowle? I've already been through the records kept by The Ministry, and all the family documentation your grandniece, Weatherly, had collected."

"If there are any more records, they would be at the estate."

"I've already been to the estate. I spoke to Weatherly in Brighton."

"Oh, no, no, not the estate in Brighton," Constance said. "I'm talking about the estate in Dover."

Juliet hadn't been aware of another Rowle estate. "Could I speak with someone there and get the records?"

"No one is there, dear. The house has sat abandoned since my late husband got drunk and fired the staff in 1937. It is in a decrepit state, I'm afraid."

Juliet took out a sheet of parchment. "Do you mind writing down the address?"

* * *

Cassio wasn't at The Ministry, or at his flat. Juliet left a note on his kitchen table ( _"_ _I've got a solid lead on the metamorphmagus. Taking Tom's car to Dover. Pick up all these fucking vials and cloaks - you're no slob. Love, Jules"_ ) and got back in the Ford Escort she had left parked on the curb.

The drive to Dover took Juliet just over two hours, after she stopped for a sandwich and petrol. She had been so focused on the wizarding world, and the fucked up nature of it, that the news on the radio shocked her – there had been a massacre in China. Hundreds of protesters at Tiananmen Square had been killed by the Chinese military, who fired live rounds into the crowd. Juliet listened to the reports until a series of audio clips from the slaughter made her turn off the radio. 

The Rowle estate sat at the end of an overgrown dirt road that wound over the surrounding meadows and hills; a three-story compound whose deteriorated stone walls revealed portions of the interior. A tree grew through the open front doors. The branches reaching into the house had torn apart the porte cochère. There were several outbuildings; stables and servants quarters. Six deteriorated rings, two of which exhibited vegetation and animal nests, stood watch over a field to the northwest – an overgrown Quidditch pitch.

Juliet stopped the car in the tall grass and gravel in front of the house. She set the parking brake, turned the engine off, and left the keys in the ignition. She grabbed her jacket off the seat – the wind was strong and cold for June.

Instead of going around the invasive tree, Juliet climbed into the house through a broken window. She ignited the end of her wand and walked forward into the dark estate. The plaster-covered walls and ceilings were stained with rings of dried rainwater; the estate had leaked for years after its human inhabitants vacated the grounds. Tapestries, oriental rugs, books, and paintings were soaked and deteriorated beyond recognition.

Juliet walked through what had once been the formal dining room. Plates, silverware, and candelabras sat covered in dust, like a scene from _Great Expectations_. A draft came from the fireplace. Juliet stepped over broken furniture and the skeleton of some long dead animal.

Three vials sat on a table by the fireplace, next to a wooden chair that, unlike the others around the table, was not coated in dust. Footprints covered the floor; areas where the dirt, dust, and grime had stuck to someone's shoes and peeled off the hardwood. Juliet picked up the vials and checked them. Two vials of Blood-Replenishing Potion, and a third she didn't recognize. Only a few drops of the black and gold substance remained.

Juliet extinguished the light on her wand and listened, but she didn't hear anything. She kept her wand raised and walked through the dining room, into a sitting room. More footprints. When she reached the front hallway, the footprints were everywhere. Someone had been here a lot, and recently.

Juliet walked into the front entryway. The massive room towered over her; a wide expanse made more impressive by two overhanging floors of staircases and balconies. Juliet looked up through the railings, and stepped on something that snapped beneath her boot.

Juliet leaned down. And smelled blood.

The dead face of Kayal Rowle stared back at her, caught between masculine and feminine forms. Her footfalls had crushed the bones in their right wrist, which lay splayed across the floor. The skin covering the shoulders, arms, and legs was torn open, but Kayal hadn't died from the wounds given to them by Eni Iro. 

As the splattered condition of the torso and head indicated, being pushed from the third floor balcony above is what sealed Kayal Rowle’s fate.


	65. Discrepancy

**July 1989**

_Dear Professor Minerva McGonagall,_ _Acting Headmistress at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,_

_Thank you for your hospitality last month when I spent three days at your school, speaking with your students and casting my trace spell. I have since cross-referenced the results of my trace with the list of names you provided, indicating which of your students are muggle-born. Before I go into the details, and the discrepancies I found in your list, I wanted to thank you, again, for your cooperation, as I know you are strongly against the means and methods being used by The Ministry of Magic at this time. As I assured you last month, myself, and the other Auror involved with the trace and the registry, are both muggle-born. We will not share the list of names, or the spell used to cast the trace, with anyone else, including other Aurors. The Daily Prophet gets a lot of things wrong, but it is true that we intend to destroy the registry and the trace once the muggle-born murderers are found and the safety of muggle-borns can be assured._

_At this time, there shouldn't be any reason to believe that the students will be in any danger upon their return to Hogwarts in September, so long as they remain on school property. The Ministry does, however, recommend limiting trips to Hogsmeade during the coming year._

_While the list you provided me with is, I am sure, complete to the best of your knowledge, I encountered a few discrepancies subsequent to the casting of my trace. Three students were incorrectly categorized. I am sure you know that Edith Travers is a pure-blood. It is likely that her name was added to your list by mistake. The second student, Lucas Flint, was picked up when I set the trace. I did some research and found out that the boy's mother is a muggle. As my trace indicates, Atticus Flint is not the boy's biological father. I doubt that Atticus is aware of this information. The third student is Aaron Stone; the child who was previously investigated by The Ministry for the use of underage apparition. While the boy was listed as muggle-born, my trace did not affix to him; therefore, he is not muggle-born and will not be included in the registry._

_I understand the delicate nature of family genetics, and I am sure you do as well. Should you choose to disclose this information to the associated students and their families, I recommend extreme discretion._

_Please update your records, as necessary, and provide a list of the muggle-born First Years upon the beginning of the school year._

_Sincerely,_

_Cassio_

_Auror Office, The Department of Magical Law Enforcement_


	66. Firestorm

**August 1989**

Lightning cut through the dark sky and ignited the face of the cliff above Charlie's tent. The loud storm had blown in at sundown and kept him awake past midnight. The lightning was close this high in the mountains and strong winds forced horizontal rain to assault the shield he had cast over his camp. He had pulled his tent as close to the rocks as he could without losing sight of the dragons perched beneath a rock overhang fifty feet below him. 

Charlie walked to the edge of the ledge and looked down. The next flash of lightning revealed three members of the clan of Peruvian Vipertooths he had tracked and studied since mid-July. Their migratory route had taken Charlie and the rest of the research team through Peru, Brazil, Uruguay, and into Argentina.

The smaller female shifted in her sleep and laid her head on her brother's back. Charlie climbed back into his tent and unscrewed the flask of fire whiskey he'd gotten from Bennett. The only light came from the end of his wand. He had suspended it in the air above him when he made dinner. Thankfully, The Ministry had granted him a temporary removal of his underage trace for the summer, after the research team that had taken him on informed them that it would be impossible for him to do the job without magic. They had been right.

Charlie hadn't seen Bennett or Mia in three days, not since the clan of seven dragons they were tracking had fought among themselves and broken off from each other. The dragons were territorial and didn't travel well in groups larger than two or three for very long. Charlie's dragons had separated from the others after his larger female had attacked - and maimed - Bennett's youngest male. Bennett had stayed behind to heal the dragon and Mia had followed the other three on her own. They kept in contact by owl, but Charlie hadn't heard from Mia or Bennett since yesterday morning. Based on Mia's last reported location of her dragons, their clans would arrive at the same nesting ground in another day or so, if the storm didn't keep them all out of the skies.

Charlie took another drink from the flask. He had enchanted his sweater and bedroll to keep off the chill, but he wouldn't mind having someone to curl up next to and drink fire whiskey with right about now. Seeing Bennett and Mia together all summer made him want what they had; someone else to rely on and sleep next to. When the three of them had camped together, Bennett and Mia had tried to remain professional, for his sake, but they were twenty-six years old and had been married for two years. They wanted each other. Charlie gave them as much privacy as he could.

Thunder shook Charlie awake three hours later. He had fallen asleep against the cliff face, pressed against the back wall of his tent. The empty flask was in his lap.

_No, that wasn't thunder._

It was the roar of one of his dragons.

Charlie unzipped his tent and leaned over the edge of the cliff. Before the next flash of lighting revealed that the dragons were gone, a torrent of fire shot across the sky - mixing with the rain and lightning. The dragons roared.

Something had pissed them the fuck off. Had the other members of the clan come back into the territory?

Charlie watched the sky, waiting for lightning or flames to reveal the locations of the other dragons. Instead, he saw _FUCK_ an airship.

_mother fuckers_

Charlie snatched his wand out of the air. He grabbed his goggles, gloves, and pulled on his rain coat, then he took his broom, stepped out onto the ledge, and raced up into the clouds.

The rain tore at him. Charlie pulled his wand in fast circles around his body, casting a shield charm to keep the downpour from soaking him through and making his broom too wet to hold onto.

He dove into the clouds, sealing himself in darkness. He didn't have a choice. There wasn't any light - apart from the lightning and the lanterns on the airship. He surged upward through the rain, looking for dragon fire and trying to stay out of sight of the zeppelin.

A harpoon fired.

_SHIT_

_FUCKING SHIT_

Charlie shot out of the clouds above the zeppelin. He used the light from their lanterns and searchlights to scan the sky. He didn't hear any of his dragons scream. The harpoon had missed its target.

_They might not get lucky a second time. I have to get them out of here._

The poachers scrambled across the deck of the airship, yelling at each other in Portuguese.

_They've been on the dragons since Brazil, then. How the fuck did we not see them?_

Blurred flashes of copper flew over his head; the smaller female and her brother. Lightning cut between them and the zeppelin, making the hair on Charlie's arms stand on end. His ears rang from the crash of instantaneous thunder.

The poachers had seen the dragons, too. They aimed their harpoons and fired into the night. Charlie dove to get out of their path. 

His dragons roared and exhaled flames at the airship, but its fire shield held.

Two poachers mounted brooms and leaped off the port side of the zeppelin. Bennett and Mia had warned Charlie about the brooms poachers used. They were modified with nets that could be fired like sling-shots; packed with enough impact energy to entangle the dragons and knock them out of the sky.

The poachers fired another harpoon into the air. Charlie didn't have time to wait and see if it hit a target. He went after the poachers on brooms.

The handle of Charlie's broom shook against pockets of unstable air as he chased after them. He flew so fast that he outpaced his shield charm and caught a face full of rain. More of it poured over his body, but he didn't have time to adjust his speed or cast another better shield. The poachers were almost right on top of his dragons.

One of them fired a net at the male. Charlie took a hand off his broom and raised his wand. He yelled, " _Confringo!_ ", through the torrent of rain. The net exploded.

The poacher turned and chased Charlie while his companion stayed on the dragons. Charlie flew straight up into the clouds. He slid down the handle of his broom and stood in the stirrups; completely vertical. He raised his wand at the poacher while his broom soared upward, firing the blasting charm into the sky six, seven, eight times. Flashes of green light shot back at him. The poacher wasn't messing around.

_Fine. Let's see you try this, you bloody tosser._

Charlie plummeted out of the sky. He pulled himself back onto the top of his broom and flew beneath the poacher. A roar sounded in his ear as the alpha female joined him. She was so close, matching his speed, that he could have reached out and touched her.

The second poacher came out of the clouds with their net aimed at the dragon. Charlie charged the poachers. He flew between them and cast an expanding shield charm to push them apart. The alpha followed him, exhaling fire. Her flames shot across the sky at one of the poachers. The man threw up his wand to cast what Charlie assumed would have been a fire-resistant shield, but his flyby had knocked the man off balance. He fell off his broom. The other poacher soared beneath the flames and raised her wand, but Charlie flew at her and hit her with the stunning spell.

Both poachers fell through the sky without their brooms. 

Charlie dove after them. He couldn't let them die.

But he never caught them. The airship fired a harpoon into the alpha. She screamed - a horrible sound of agony - as it went through her left shoulder and into her torso. She plummeted into the darkness.

Charlie changed course and went after her. 

She beat the air with her right wing, trying to stay airborne, but the harpoon had paralyzed her. She fell out of the sky and collided with the side of a mountain. She screamed, tumbled, and rolled down the cliff face, clawing against the rocks. Charlie screamed; helpless and losing her in the dark.

Two figures shot past Charlie. He raised his wand - ready to assault them - then realized he recognized them.

It was Bennett and Mia.

And - roaring, breathing fire, and assaulting the airship - the rest of the dragon clan.

Bennett used an amplification charm on his already lit wand. He raised it over his head to see the side of the cliff, where the alpha female thrashed in pain.

"I'll help her," Bennett yelled to Charlie over the storm. "Where are the other two?"

"Still in the air, like the fucking airship," Charlie said.

"We have to take it out of the sky. If we can take out their shield, the dragons will do the rest. Can you break a fire shield?"

In response, Charlie surged upward toward the airship, where Mia and the rest of the dragons circled. Mia cast shields and screamed spells, protecting the dragons.

Charlie soared over the airship and cast a revealing spell to make the fire shield visible. He followed the shield across the gas-containing envelope. It wasn't a custom shield, just a generic fire-resistant shield. He could break it, but he'd have to do it from the underside. Charlie dove beneath the balloon and soared over the main deck of the airship. The poachers assaulted him with spells - but his own shield held. Mia soared in to keep them off his back, blasting poachers into the deck of their ship.

Charlie raised his wand and chanted a counter spell, firing waves of light across the sky and into the shield.

His assault broke the fire shield and left the airship exposed.

Three dragons exhaled flames. Charlie was too close. He screamed as their attack burned through his pants and singed his skin, leaving his leg useless. He slipped off his broom, but Mia grabbed him and pulled him onto hers.

Charlie clutched his broom - and Mia's - as they tore away from the airship. The dragons engulfed the vessel in flames.


	67. Up to No Good

**October 1989**

Thick layers of dust covered the bookshelves in the Cleaning Spells and Charms section of the Hogwarts library. The last time anyone had touched the books was in 1923, when Richard Shacklebolt spilled a bottle of self-writing ink all over his robes at breakfast. He had planned on using the ink to cheat on his end of term exams. Instead, after none of the cleaning spells or charms had removed the resulting stains, one of his professors recognized the tint of the blemishes and dragged him into Phineas Nigellus Black's office. The headmaster had expelled Richard on the spot.

Two sets of eyes peered over _Ten Charms for Degreasing Your Cauldron_ , _Floor Cleaning Made Easy,_ and a twenty-third printing of _Mildew Removal for Witches and Wizards_. Fred and George Weasley sat on the floor with their legs crossed, watching Madam Pince scold two Fifth Year students who had been snogging in the Herbology section.

"Well, there's the distraction we needed," Fred said.

George took a handful of dung bombs out of his satchel. "How many should we use?"

"Eight, at least," Fred said. "I don't want anyone going near the library until after Christmas."

"I agree," George said, passing Fred half of the dung bombs. "If we hit the books hard now, Snape, McGonagall, and the lot of them will have to stop assigning reports that are twelve sheets of parchment long. There won't be any other way for us to do research."

"Really, they brought this on themselves," Fred said. "If we don't do something now, they'll think they can always load us up with work like this."

George winced and covered his ears. "Pince is so _shrill_.”

"She's all for being quiet until she goes after one of us," Fred said, eyeing the woman over the bookshelves. 

"She's had this coming, too."

"Right," Fred said. "Let's do this before she finishes with them."

Fred and George walked down the aisle, leaving a trail of dung bombs on the shelves behind them. They walked past a table where a group of Seventh Years sat and spotted Percy reading alone in a corner.

Fred walked up to him. "I'd get out of here if I were you."

Percy ignored him.

Fred and George walked out of the library, then leaned back around the doorway. They raised their wands and recited a charm. The dung bombs detonated; eight miniature explosions released clouds of foul-smelling smoke into the air. The smoke poured out of the aisles and permeated the books.

The twins should have run. Instead, they erupted in laughter.

Students ran from the library, coughing and yelling, covering their noses and mouths. Madam Pince covered her nose and screamed for someone to help her contain the spreading fumes and save her books. Percy staggered, lost in the smoke and looking entirely perplexed.

Fred and George only laughed more. Seeing Percy disoriented and Pince screaming – it was better than they ever could have hoped. They leaned on each other to keep from falling over, gasping in air between loud chuckles.

Filch grabbed them. "You stupid little twits."

Fred feigned surprise. "What?"

"You did this."

"No, no," George said. "We were just standing here, honest."

Filch dragged them down the hallway. "I'm going to tan your hides."

"You've got it all wrong," Fred said. "We're Weasleys, don't you know? Of Prefect, Quidditch Captain, and Head Boy fame?"

George said, "Do you really think we would do something like this?"

"Hush, both of you," Filch said.

He pulled them into his office, shoved them onto a bench, and slammed the door.

George said, "Shouldn't you be saving the books or something?"

"I've heard dung bomb odor is almost impossible to remove from parchment," Fred added.

"It was you! The two of you have been nothing but trouble since you got off the damn train. I am sick and tired of making sure that you-"

While Filch ranted, Fred elbowed George.

"What?"

"Look," Fred whispered, "at that drawer."

"-I have much better things to do with my time. Two First Years shouldn't be able to give me so many headaches, and it is only the fifth week of term. I am going to take you right to Professor McGonagall's office as soon as she gets back from-"

The drawer Fred directed George's attention to was labeled _Confiscated and Highly Dangerous_.

George smiled. "I knew there was a reason I kept you around. Should we?"

"It would be a crime not to."

"-every time I turn my back, you've gone and done something even more moronic than the last time. Why couldn't you be more like the rest of your family? I've never had to watch Percy, Charlie, or even Bill this closely to make sure the damn school doesn't burn down-"

George took out another dung bomb and tossed it on the floor. The cloud of ensuing smoke surrounded Filch. The drawer wasn't even locked. Fred pulled it open. There was nothing inside, except for a folded sheet of parchment. Fred took it anyway.

By the time Professor McGonagall and Filch let them go to bed, dinner was over, their robes reeked of dung, and they had a month of detention to look forward to.

George asked, "What was in the drawer?"

"Just some parchment." Fred handed it to George.

"You've got to be kidding me. There's not even anything written on this. We really messed up today."

"Next time we'll do better," Fred said. "We should have found out where Filch was before we assaulted the school's wonderful collection of literature."

"It's no use," George said, turning the parchment over. "I swear he follows us."

"Filch is a dolt," Fred said. "He just always assumes we're up to no good."

The map flickered. George thought he saw -

_No, couldn't be footprints._

"Say that again."

"Filch is a dolt."

"No, the other part."

"We're up to no good?"

The map flickered again. _Those are footprints!_

"Fred, I don't think this is just some parchment."


	68. Incapacitation

**November 1981**

The cottage was located off a seldom-used road leading out of Godric's Hollow – separated from the rest of the town. At first glance, it looked like every other old English country house, with cobblestone walls, wood window frames, and hedges bordering the road. Most people had always driven, or walked, by without giving it a second thought.

Until two days ago. Now, no one from Godric's Hollow went near it.

The cottage's second floor smoldered and shifted. A partially unsupported roof joist collapsed into the nursery and sent up a cloud of debris. Alice Longbottom could see the crib from the road before she stepped through the front gate.

_How did the child survive this?_

Alice, Frank, Alastor Moody, and Albus Dumbledore had arrived at the cottage two hours after James and Lily Potter were killed, after reports of an explosion in Godric's Hollow reached The Ministry and The Order of the Phoenix. Alice had ran into the smoldering house; she heard an infant. Frank, Alastor, and Dumbledore came up the stairs after her. They found Harry in his crib – cold and hungry. His face was swollen and red from screaming.

James and Lily's bodies had been crushed by falling rubble when the house exploded. It had taken Alice and the others more than an hour to pull out their bodies. Moody said a killing curse had backfired, and Alice and Frank agreed with him. It was the only thing that could have resulted in the kind of damage they witnessed; an explosion that had poisoned the structure and made it resistant to any type of magic. They had to use their own strength, and muscle augmentation charms, to lift crumbled stones and collapsed beams off the corpses of Harry's parents. 

Now, James and Lily had been buried in the cemetery in town, and Harry had been left in the care of his muggle aunt and uncle. All that was left was to figure out how Voldemort had found the Potter's cottage. The dwelling had been protected by a Fidelius Charm, a powerful spell that should have rendered it invisible, intangible, and unplottable. And, there was another matter to solve. If Voldemort's killing curse had backfired on him when he went to kill Harry – where was his body?

Alice walked through the front gate. The air beside her _CRACK_ compressed and expanded as Frank appeared.

"Is he alright?"

"He's fine," Frank said. "I just put him down and left my mother with his extra blanket."

The thought of her mother-in-law watching her child all night made Alice uneasy for no particular reason. The woman did fine with Neville. Alice just wanted to be there instead. Frank was right. They should have retired when Neville was born. If Voldemort was really dead, and they finished rounding up the Death Eaters, then maybe retirement was still an option.

Alice and Frank walked into the house. The temperature dropped from the poison of the dark magic that had infected its walls.

Alice's breath fogged in the air. She took out her wand and ignited the end.

If Voldemort's body was anywhere near the cottage, they would find it.

"Do you think he could have apparited out of the way of the backfiring curse? He's powerful enough, with all his dark magic."

"Doubtful," Frank said. "But we should check to make sure he didn't set a mirror portal or something that would have pulled him out of here when everything went wrong."

Alice raised her wand. The Archimedes Field spread over the interior of the cottage and shimmered against the walls and ceilings. Alice followed it up the stairs. She didn't see any distortions or anything to indicate -

Alice dove on the floor as green flames poured over her head. 

Bellatrix Lestrange screamed and lunged at her. Alice raised her wand and thought _Confringo._

The blasting curse missed Bellatrix, but the wall behind her exploded. Alice heard Frank run up the stairs as someone grabbed her from behind . . . and apparited her into the woods. Alice hit her assailant with a concussive force that knocked him into a tree. She recognized the Death Eater on sight - Rodolphus Lestrange. Alice hit him with another wave of force and ran into the woods. The air split as Rodolphus appeared in front of her. Alice's next attack singed the air and collided with a spell cast by Rodolphus. The electric waves of their assaults cracked against each other. 

A third spell broke them apart, and sent Alice flying back into a tree. The air was forced out of her lungs and she doubled over on the ground.

The third spell had been cast by Barty Crouch Junior, a skinny nineteen year old who had became obsessed with Voldemort's rise to power while he was still a student at Hogwarts. His next spell tore Alice's wand out of her hand.

Alice charged Crouch, but Rodolphus raised his wand. He pulled her into his grasp, grabbed her neck, and threw her on the ground. He stomped on her legs until the bones in her knee caps fractured. Alice screamed. Rodolphus wrapped his fingers around her neck and disapparated. They appeared in an empty warehouse. Rodolphus dragged her across the floor and lashed her to a column with a waiting iron chain. Alice screamed from the pain.

Rodolphus leaned over her; his long dark hair fell over the scars on his forehead. "I knew you'd come back."

Alice spit in his face.

The air split. Bellatrix and Crouch appeared.

Rodolphus asked, "Where's Rab?"

Crouch said, "Chasing the other Auror."

_No. No._

Alice strained against the links of chain that cut into her skin.

Rodolphus said, "I know you're in pain, so let's make this easy. What have you done with his body?"

Alice didn't say anything.

"We don't have time for this," Bellatrix said. She raised her wand. " _Crucio!_ "

It wasn't the first time Alice had writhed under the Cruciatus Curse. She shut her eyes and focused on the column behind her head, on the thought of Frank, of Neville, of anything except the pain surging through her body. Her legs pounded against the concrete floor. She couldn't keep herself from biting through her bottom lip.

Bellatrix stopped the curse, laughing and dancing around Alice.

"Where is it, Alice?"

Blood ran down Alice's chin.

" _Crucio._ "

Alice screamed.

Rabastan appeared with Frank. Alice saw her husband through the tears in her eyes. His body was limp.

_NO. NO._

_FRANK_

She waited for Bellatrix to stop the curse.

Two hours later, when her body still thrashed against the chain, Alice realized they weren't going to stop.

_Playing by the stream. The Quidditch match against Gryffindor._

_Come on. You have to remember the rest._

_The day I met Frank. Sleeping next to Frank beneath the stars._

There were two more keys. Her skin burned as her nerves were flayed alive.

_Someone . . . was . . ._

_THE DAY NEVILLE WAS BORN_

But, she couldn't remember where she had been yesterday, or even where she had been before this warehouse.

Three hours later, she no longer recognized the screams she heard as her own.

Just before sunrise, Alice looked across the warehouse and saw Frank, screaming. It was the last time she would recognize him as her husband. She had forgotten her son hours ago.

The only faces Alice Longbottom would ever recognize again were those of the Death Eaters who had torn her mind apart – for she would see them in her waking nightmares.


	69. Everything In-Between (or Milk Bread with Honey)

**November 1989**

There were fifty-three cans of molasses, nine-thousand pounds of beans, and eight-hundred and thirty pounds of sugar left in the pantry. Aaron knew. He had counted all of it and updated the inventory list Lara had left on his work station. He stared at the next group of shelves, filled with sacks of flour, cornmeal, and lentils. There wasn't a spell for counting an amount of something, or for weighing raw goods. Someone really fucking needed to come up with one. By the time he finished, there wouldn't be anything left to do except go to sleep. It was already after eleven. He had to meet Juliet at St. Mungo's in less than eight hours.

It had been a long day. Before the sun came up - and before classes started - Aaron had been at Moody's flat, sitting on the floor surrounded by photographs, maps, and documents from the muggle-born murder scenes that he had taken off the old Auror's kitchen wall. Aaron wanted to see if he recognized any of the locations in his layers. With a mixtape of _Minor Threat_ , _Black Flag_ , and _The Exploited_ blasting in his ears, Aaron shifted between Moody's living room and as many layers as he could hold onto at one time, sifting through locations while he choked back saliva, bile, and vertigo. He pulled himself far enough into the illusions to watch the wood floor beneath him disappear, and existed in the unstable in-between - pulling himself through ten to fifteen coinciding places at a time - until exhaustion made him lose control and convinced him to take a break. 

Even with the break, he would still end up falling asleep in two of his afternoon classes.

Going through the layers at this point in his exploration of the wizarding world beyond Hogwarts and Hogsmeade was a longshot, he knew. The truth of the problem was that he still hadn't touched enough people, or, at least, he hadn't touched the _right_ people, even after following Moody and Juliet around the United Kingdom for almost seven months. Aaron had shouldered through crowds in Diagon Alley and inside the Underground; he had shaken the hands of people who worked at Gringott's, The Ministry of Magic, and _The Daily Prophet_. The only crime scenes in the layers were still just the ones he had pulled off of Moody and Juliet. The places he was looking for - locations from the murders that had taken place outside of the wizarding world between 1985 and 1987; the kill sites the muggle police had beaten Juliet to and that weren't places she, or Moody, had been to in person - weren't in his layers.

Juliet appeared in Moody's flat right before Aaron left for Hogwarts. She told Moody and Aaron that a woman who worked for The Ministry - Bertha Jorkins - had brain damage from a poorly cast memory charm, and she was ranting incoherently about Death Eaters. Juliet hadn't been able to get anything useful from the woman's mind with her excavation method, but she wanted to see if Aaron could pull any locations off of her. Aaron had never tried to pull locations off of someone with brain damage. He wasn't sure what would happen when the person didn't remember where the fuck they had been, or even who they were anymore.

In eight hours, he would find out.

Aaron was halfway through the sacks of flour - keeping track of his counts on spare sheets of parchment as his tired mind faded - when Lara walked into the pantry and yelled up to him. "I'm back from Hogsmeade. Tomes and Scrolls had that muggle book you wanted."

"Great," Aaron yelled, "I'll pay you back."

"Don't worry about it. They had a used copy on the shelf. It didn't cost me much," Lara said. "How's it going in here?"

Aaron stood up, stretched, and leaned over the railing three stories above Lara. "We're finally going to burn through our supply of those weird radishes in another few weeks. And . . . we don't need to order any more baking soda. Possibly ever again."

"Right, well, it's late. I'm going to finish up here and go home. You should call it a night, too, or at least come down here and help Eni with whatever the hell she is making."

Lara left the pantry.

Aaron finished counting the sacks of flour, added the total to the inventory sheet, and climbed down the platforms.

Eni set large mixing bowls and ingredients on the table near the ovens.

Aaron walked up to her. "Can't sleep again?"

"Something like that," Eni said. "Here."

She handed him a clean apron. Aaron put it on, washed his hands, and joined her at the table.

"I've already made the tangzhong - the starter for the dough. I can write down the steps for making it, so you can make it yourself next time."

Eni handed him a bowl filled with a thick substance. "That's the tangzhong - water, milk, and flour. I'll have to write down the ratios for you, too. I'm not used to measuring any of this out."

Aaron looked at the jar of honey to his left. "Are you teaching me your family's milk bread recipe?"

"Yes."

"I feel honored."

"As you should." She pointed to the ingredients on the table. "You're going to combine all of this - the flour, milk, sugar, salt, yeast, eggs, and butter - with the tangzhong to make the dough. I've already portioned all of it out. After you've done that, I can help you knead."

Aaron added the ingredients to the bowl, scraped in the tangzhong, and started mixing. Once the dough was ready, he broke it apart with Eni and rolled it into balls.

"It's supposed to set for over an hour but," Eni waved her hand and recited an incantation, "if you use a rising charm, it's instant."

The dough balls expanded and filled with air. Eni stuck her fist into the center of the first ball. "Now, we deflate them, re-shape them, and go through another round of rising and re-shaping."

Aaron followed Eni's lead. They covered the dough balls with an egg wash and loaded six trays into the brick ovens. 

"They'll need to bake for twenty-five minutes, at least," Eni said.

"I feel like we made too much. Or, do you plan on just living off milk bread for the foreseeable future?"

"I plan on throwing it at you and at anyone else who pisses me off," Eni said. "Now, let me write down the recipe so you won't forget it."

She grabbed a quill and an ink pot from the table near the pantry and looked around for parchment. Aaron had used the last of it for his inventory work. He picked up the book Lara had gotten him - _The Hound of the Baskervilles -_ and handed it to Eni. "You can write it down in here. I save things in my books so I don't lose them."

Eni opened the book and leaned over a page near the front. "That's a good idea. Defacing classic literature."

Aaron shrugged. "It was always just easier to grab the books whenever I had to leave places suddenly."

"You still do that, you know."

Eni wrote _Milk Bread with Honey_ and underlined it. She added a paragraph about her mother baking, holidays when they used to eat baked goods together, and silly details she knew Aaron would appreciate later. Beneath it, she listed the ingredients, amounts, and steps. She blew on the ink and handed the book back to Aaron.

They washed the dishes and cleaned the kitchen while the milk bread finished baking. It was after midnight when they pulled the hot rolls out of the oven.

Eni handed Aaron the honey and showed him how much to dibble over the bread. After the rolls cooled, she took one and broke it in half. "Here. Try your creation."

Aaron did. The flaky layers – sweet from the honey and savory from the butter – fell apart in his mouth. He licked his fingers, thinking he would always remember what this felt like - being in the kitchen with Eni, having the run of the pantry, taking the piss out of each other, and eating together. But, in three years, Aaron would struggle to remember why ‘milk bread with honey’ was one of his memory keys. The flavors and ingredients - and the way Eni's neat, compact handwriting looked on the pages of his book - would be gone.

Eni placed the rolls in baskets. "Grab a few bottles of fire whiskey, would you?"

Aaron had perfected suspicious expressions shortly after he’d started walking. "What are you doing with all of this?"

"Come with me and find out."

Aaron grabbed three bottles and followed Eni out of the kitchen.

Eni turned down a hallway, took the stairs up three floors, and turned down another hallway. She walked towards what Aaron swore to God had always been a blank wall and opened a door in-between two portraits.

Music _good muggle music_ and loud voices spilled out of the room. They walked down a concrete hallway lined with graffiti and walked into _what is this_ a basement party. There were high windows, old couches, band posters covering the walls, a jukebox, and almost everyone from his year - standing in groups, talking loud over the music, and laughing. He saw Tonks, Donaghan, and Maddison. Lara, her husband Adam, and Lee stood with Hagrid and Aleus, who waved at Aaron from behind barrels of butterbeer and ale. Hagrid walked toward him, but Fang reached Aaron first and licked his hand.

Eni left the baskets of milk bread on a table and turned back to Aaron, unable to hide her smile anymore and waiting for him to say something already.

"Eni . . . what is this?"

“Your party, you dolt.” Eni stood on her tip toes and kissed his chin. "Happy birthday."

* * *

Aaron lost track of how much he had to drink, not because he was pissed - quite the opposite - but because people kept handing him glasses and steins of ale, butterbeer, and fire whiskey. He took a sip of each offering before setting them down, leaving a trail of discarded dishware around the Room of Requirement. He still didn't know if it was the summer punch that had made his body tear so aggressively through space two years ago or what, but he knew he didn't need any kind of amplifications tonight. The night, in itself, was more than enough; a constant blur of faces, shit talking, and music. He laughed about backfiring stuttering jinxes and enlargement charms with Eni and Lee; told Tonks he hadn't fucked up the Transfiguration O.W.L. exam as much as he thought he had; and talked music with Donaghan. Hagrid - who had gotten drunk before Aaron and Eni arrived - kept slapping him on the back and telling him how proud he was. Fang jumped on the couches and licked peoples' faces. 

It was, no shit, one of the best nights he had ever had.

Aaron leaned against a wall, holding a pint glass full of ale. He looked for Eni and saw her sitting on a couch with Lee, with her legs draped over her girlfriend's lap, waving her arms through the air as she told Lee a story. He had almost lost her when the metamorphmagus grabbed her in the club in London. He should have gone to the protests. Maybe if he had been there, Eni wouldn't have had to face the killer alone.

The song on the jukebox changed. Eni stood up and dragged Lee into the middle of the room. They danced together and pulled Tonks in-between them. Aaron watched his friends and felt a sudden detachment. The sensation had hit him on and off since McGonagall told him there had been a mistake; he _wasn't_ muggle-born. He had to ask her to repeat herself.

"It seems you have some magical heritage we were not aware of," McGonagall had said. 

"How is that possible?"

"Do you have any family members you could speak with and find out if-"

"No," Aaron said. "I don't."

"If you had an uncle or-"

"I don't have anyone."

"I'm sorry, dear, then I'm afraid there's no other way to verify the origins of your magical inheritance."

Aaron had left McGonagall's office adrift and disconnected. 

_So, what am I now? Am I supposed to pretend I know anything different from being muggle-born in this world? From being the kid who is still kind of shit at magic? Muggle-raised? With wizard blood?_

_Does any of this shit matter anyway?_

Whoever his family had been - magical or muggle - they still hadn't wanted him.

Aaron took a drink. He hadn't told anyone what McGonagall had told him. He needed to figure out what the hell it meant for him first.

Charlie leaned against the wall next to him. "Some party, yeah?"

"I'm still kind of in shock."

"It was all Eni. She planned the whole damn thing; found out about this room and got people to bring stuff in from Hogsmeade. She made invitations and passed them to us in classes and at meals when you weren't looking. You almost caught me telling Hagrid about tonight when you walked by us in the courtyard two days ago. I thought for sure you were onto us."

"I never suspected a thing."

Charlie reached into his coat and handed Aaron a wrapped gift. "Here. It's from all of us; Bill, Mum, Dad, and me."

Aaron tore at the brown paper. There was an envelope with his name on it in Molly's handwriting. He tucked it into his pocket to read later and unwrapped the rest of the gift.

"It's not fancy. You know where I come from," Charlie said, "but it's well made. And getting a watch on your seventeenth birthday is something of a tradition in our world."

Aaron put the leather band around his wrist and watched the sweeping second hand. It was a simple watch, but it made his breath catch in his throat for some reason.

”Mum wanted to get you a pocket watch but I told her you’d never carry something like that around. This was more . . . you.”

Eni's recipe, the party, and a gift from the family that had always made sure he had what he needed.

_Fuck your blood family. These are the people that care about you, idiot._

"Charlie," Aaron said, "it's perfect."

* * *

Aaron didn't feel tired again until almost three in the morning, when the bottles of bourbon were drained and Aleus and Hagrid took the empty butterbeer and ale barrels back to Hogsmeade. Eni had left with Lee almost an hour ago, laughing, excited, and slurring her words. She told him to enjoy the jukebox. Apparently, the room had provided it? Anyway, it would disappear whenever they all left.

Aaron looked through the music - scrolling through albums and artists - until Maddison came over and handed him another glass.

"I feel like you should have the last pint, seeing as it's your birthday and all."

The frayed edges of her denim shorts were in sharp contrast to her dark skin. The lace of her bra was visible through her shear top.

Aaron took another long drink.

"I can't remember the last time we talked, can you?"

"It's been awhile," Aaron said.

"It's my fault. I fell in more with my housemates. They aren't bad, for all the shit we used to talk about them."

Maddison took the glass from his hand, took a drink, and handed it back to him. She stood closer. Aaron would be lying to himself if he said he didn't like it.

Maddison leaned into his neck and whispered, "Want to celebrate the end of your underage trace?"

"I thought you spent the summer with Rhodus Carrow."

Maddison shook her head. "His mum put a stop to that, once she found out I'm muggle-born. I'd rather like to forget about it, if you'll let me."

Maddison reached behind Aaron's head, pulled him toward her, and kissed him. Her tongue parted his lips and prodded the inside of his mouth.

Still kissing him, she said, "Take us somewhere. I know you can."

Maddison kissed Aaron's neck, took his hand, and guided it beneath her shirt and bra. She pressed him against the concrete wall - against overlapping band posters - and maneuvered her hands beneath his shirt. She ran her fingers over his chest and grabbed his shoulders.

She had a lot more experience with this kind of thing than he did, and Aaron hoped he wasn't going to fuck it up.

When her hands went to the front of his jeans, he stepped away from her and pulled off his ring. "Where do you want to go?"

"You have to pick, seeing as you're the one doing the appariting."

"Not exactly," Aaron said.

Aaron pulled Maddison back against his body and kissed her. His vision cascaded into a rush of her most memorable locations; a flower shop, her dormitory, and a garage filled with sports cars and a dust-covered bicycle. He sucked on her bottom lip and forced himself not to pull her through the layers as his body shifted in microsecond bursts. A bedroom with purple wallpaper, discarded blue eyeshadow, and band posters. An elevator surrounded by a gate. The brick wall covered with barbed wire. Eni's dorm room. 

Maddison pushed him back onto a couch. She crawled on top of him and pulled her shirt over her head. Aaron's shifting body shook against her.

A dark courtyard with a lawn and glass statues. A massive room filled with decapitated dragon heads mounted on a _what the fuck_ wall. A bedroom with a four poster bed and Slytherin colors.

Maddison held his left arm over his head and ran her fingers along his scar. She started to pull his shirt over his head.

"Hold on," Aaron said, "take my arm again."

Aaron pulled them into the courtyard with the glass statues.

Maddison gasped from the disorientation of the sudden jump. She pushed herself off of Aaron, stood, and took a few unsteady steps. "How did you apparate us here?"

"Where is here?"

"It's . . . an art museum in London. You probably don't want to hear this, but Rhodus took me here once when his mum had a charity event."

She was right. He didn't want to hear it. He took Maddison's hand and guided her across the dark courtyard. When they got to the lawn, Maddison unhooked her bra and tossed it into the grass. She got on top of him beneath a statue made of fused pieces of glass and metal. Aaron ran his hands over the curves of her body while she pulled down his jeans.

It would take Aaron a few weeks to realize he had seen the statue before.


	70. Distorted

**November 1989**

Barty Crouch Junior stood in the dark, surrounded by discarded furniture and stagnant air. The attic hadn't changed since his _PUPPET MASTER_ father had brought him home from Azkaban in 1982; emaciated, unable to stand on his own, and rendered near catatonic by the dementors who had spent months feeding on him. The chains his old mad had attached to his shackles - rusted and covered with dust - still hung from the rafters. The floor boards beneath them were stained with blood. The attic was where his father had broken him.

It had taken months for Barty to realize he was home; for the shock to lift enough for him to comprehend that the man spooning food into his mouth, cleaning him, and giving him water, was his father. When he did, he sobbed and shook. He threw his arms around his father and _YOU IDIOT YOU FUCKING WEAK IDIOT_ thanked him.

His father hadn't saved him. As soon as his son was strong enough - when he was eating on his own and speaking in full sentences again - Barty Crouch Senior had raised his wand and paralyzed the boy from the waist down. He took a knife and tried to carve the Dark Mark out of his son's arm. The boy screamed. The mark couldn't be removed.

Barty Crouch Senior held his wand to his son's throat. The spells he used in his attempts to alter his son's mind - to remove his obsession with serving the Dark Lord - left the boy screaming, shaking, and damaged far beyond what the dementors had ever done to him. Even when his body collapsed and his mind lost its hold on reality, Barty Crouch Junior's devotion did not falter. Every time his father lowered his wand, Crouch spat back at him - he would never _KILL ME FIRST I TOLD HIM HE'D HAVE TO KILL ME FIRST_ forsake Voldemort.

Barty spend two years in the attic before his father damaged and distorted his mind enough to successfully cast the Imperius Curse. If he could turn his head and look down, he would see the scars the man had left on his chest, wrists, and arms.

He couldn't _CAN'T EVEN TWITCH MY INDEX FINGER TODAY_ move. But maybe _SHE SAW ME THE OLD BITCH FROM THE MINISTRY SAW ME_ he didn't have to.

His lips moved as the puppet master spoke for him. "Be quiet."

_NO NO NO NO NO_

_YOU CAN'T SHUT ME UP. SHE SAW ME. SHE SAW ME STANDING IN THE KITCHEN._

His voice said, "Stop."

_YOU USED A MEMORY CHARM ON HER, YOU COWARD. I HOPE YOU FUCKED IT UP. I HOPE SHE COMES BACK HERE WITH ALL THE DAMN AURORS. I HOPE THEY KILL ME._

"If you don't shut up," his own voice said, in the rise and fall of his puppet master's strings, "I will kill you myself."

_DO IT YOU OLD-_

The darkness collapsed around Crouch's consciousness as his father determined that damaging him was necessary today.

* * *

_CRACK_

Aaron appeared in the empty hallway outside of his old room at St. Mungo's and ran his fingers over the numbers four, zero, and eight. Nothing had changed. The hospital still smelled like bodily fluids and scouring spells. He passed a painting he used to sit beneath when he was a patient; on the floor with a book and his back pressed against the wall. It was one of the places he had gone to get out of his room and get away from the visiting rooms and lobbies. Whenever he had sat in the hallway, the healers left him alone, patients walked past him, and visitors ignored him.

Aaron walked to the lobby by the lifts. Juliet stood with her arms crossed over her chest, leaning against the floor-to-ceiling windows. A man with similar features stood next to her.

Juliet saw Aaron. "You look tired."

"I'm fine," Aaron said. After he had jumped Maddison back to Hogwarts with him, he had showered and managed to get a few hours of sleep. He still wanted more.

"This is Cassio, my twin brother. He's the one who developed the muggle-born trace."

"Juliet told me about what you can do," Cassio said. "If what she said is true - if you can pull locations off of people just by touching them - and if you can still apparate as frequently as you did in the summer of 1987 - it's invaluable."

"It only seems to be worth a damn when I manage to touch the right people."

"It's not any different from what we can do, in that way," Cassio said. "I'd really like to see what you are capable of sometime. I know you've been working with Moody, but I think there's a lot more . . . potential for your abilities."

Juliet elbowed Cassio. "Right, play mad scientist later, Cass. Let's find out if Aaron can get anything off Bertha Jorkins."

"Where is she?" Aaron asked.

"They moved her to one of the long-term residents wards. Follow me."

Aaron and Cassio followed Juliet to the Janus Thickey Ward. A healer at the front desk recognized Juliet, opened the gate securing the wing, and let them inside.

Bertha Jorkins sat inside a visiting room, facing a window. A healer sat near her.

Juliet stepped in front of Aaron. "When I was in her head, it was . . . distorted. I almost lost my own fucking mind trying to get anything out of hers. There's a lot missing, and more that is warped and bent from whatever it used to be. I don't know how what you do works, but get the hell away from her and protect yourself if anything feels wrong, alright? I don't need you losing your damn mind over this."

Aaron nodded.

Juliet walked up to Bertha. "Mrs. Jorkins? Do you remember me? I was here yesterday."

The woman grabbed Juliet's arm. "He's here."

"Who's here, Mrs. Jorkins?"

"My father. He will stop me from-"

But her face went blank. She tried to stand up. Aaron took her hand.

Nothing happened.

Aaron helped the woman stand and let her guide him around the room, past other patients with various stages of brain damage. Some rocked in their chairs. Most of them didn't move at all.

It happened fast. A stone fireplace layered over the tables, chairs, and patients. Aaron would have missed it if he blinked.

It happened again. A fireplace. In fragments. A disembodied mantel. Stones. A hearth.

The illusions appeared and vanished like camera flashes.

Aaron pulled on them.

They pulled back. Hard.

Aaron let go of Bertha and stumbled backward into a chair. He fell and stretched out his hands, trying to physically stop the fireplace from pulling him through the inside of its rigid stones. He tried to pull at the space around the fireplace, but nothing was there. This wasn't a location. It was the distorted fragment of a location.

Aaron's body was trapped between the limits of the fireplace and the visiting room; caught in-between and unable to stabilize in either place.

_fuck_

Aaron couldn't push the fireplace away from him. It collided with the visiting room until neither place looked real.

He heard a scream. Someone else had grabbed him. A woman with long, tangled hair.

_Is she real?_

Aaron couldn't stop himself from pulling her into the distorted in-between space with him. She was real - and she was trying to kill him. Her fingers wrapped around his neck. Aaron choked. The woman didn't stop screaming; the sound came out of her mouth laced with strings of saliva. More disembodied objects assaulted him - hedges, a broken tea kettle, a crib, and a blanket.

Aaron summoned the only layer strong enough to end this fucking nightmare - the park. He pulled on the walking paths, lawns, and the parking lot until it pulled back on him hard enough to shatter the illusions of the fragmented objects. He folded space -

\- and appeared in the grass with the screaming woman. He forced his hands between the woman's fingers and his neck. He gasped for air, took the woman by the arm, and pulled them back into the visiting room.

Aaron put on his ring. The woman grabbed his throat.

It took two healers to pull Alice Longbottom off of Aaron.


	71. Sister's Keeper

**December 1976**

The rope she had used to bind the boy's hands was still tied around his wrists, floating over his head in the dark water. His dead body drifted in front of her, suspended beneath the surface of the lake. His mouth was open in a scream, and his lips were cut and torn. When he realized the charm he had placed on his restraints didn't work, he panicked and pulled water down his throat, gasping and trying to untie the rope with his teeth.

Juliet screamed and shoved herself away from her sister. She was thirteen, and it was the first time she had ever pulled a memory off of someone. She had been braiding Rosaline’s hair in the Ravenclaw common room before class. She had only held her sister's head in-place for a second, but it had been enough.

Rosaline leaned over her. "Jules, what's wrong? What the hell was that? I felt . . . did it happen to you, too?”

Juliet couldn’t get the memory out of her head; she was submerged and pulled back beneath the lake. She reached for the drowned boy's body and realized the hands she stretched out weren't hers. The scar that ran from the back of the thumb to the wrist - caused by a fall from a bicycle - belonged to Rosaline.

Her sister had bound the boy's hands and watched him jump into the lake. Her sister had reached through the water.

"Jules, oh shit, what's wrong?"

It wasn't Rosaline's fault. They were First Years playing a game. By the time she realized her friend _David his name was David_ had been under the water for too long, it was too late. 

Juliet crawled away from her sister.

"Jules, please, talk to me.”

"You tied his hands, Ros."

Rosaline backed away from Juliet. "What?"

"You tied his hands together."

"Juliet, what are you-"

"The boy in the lake. David."

Rosaline shook. "You can't know that. How do you know that?"

"It wasn't your fault."

Rosaline didn't care. She wasn't scared of the boy in the lake anymore. She was scared of Juliet.


	72. Provenance

**December 1989**

Harriet stood at the end of an elevated platform, holding a paper bag and waiting for the 2:15 train. The timetable above her head informed her that it was running as scheduled. She unrolled the bag, took out a piece of licorice, and held it between her teeth. The candy was for her boys - Robert and Michael - but she couldn't help herself.

Harriet chewed on the licorice and watched the people around her; three woman her age, an older man with a pipe, and a man with a leashed dog. 

She had to tell John tonight. She couldn't hide what was happening with Robert anymore, not after that morning. Her seven year old had broken another plate. He hadn't meant to, God knows he hadn't meant to - he hadn't even been anywhere near it - but the dish had hurled itself off the counter with the same motion Robert had used to push his little brother away from his paper airplane. John came into the kitchen a moment later and saw the shattered remains of the plate on the floor. He had yelled at both boys. Harriet had taken Robert by the hand and led him into the hallway while her husband cleaned up. She told her son it was alright. It wasn't his fault. The same kind of things had happened to her when she was seven years old.

John was a muggle, and Harriet had never hold him about her abilities or the wizarding world. She almost had once, after they had first moved in together, when John found two of her old Hogwarts textbooks.

"I never knew you were into _Dungeons and Dragons_ ," he had said, holding a tattered copy of Scamander's book.

"For a bit, in college," she had lied.

She tossed _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ and _Magical Draughts and Potions_ out the next morning. She realized now that she should have saved them. Robert would need the same books in a few years.

A fourth woman walked onto the platform. She wore a fur coat and boots made out of some type of reptile skin. The woman looked at the timetable, then walked up to Harriet.

"Did I miss the 2:15 train?"

"No, you've still got a few minutes."

The woman stepped closer. Harriet could smell her perfume and see the delicate necklace that hung around her neck. Something was on the woman's forehead, too; a smear of black and gold.

"You weren't here yesterday," the woman said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You must have taken a different route home for once."

"I'm sorry," Harriet said, still chewing on the candy. "I don't understand. Have we met before?"

Emily Carrow raised her wand and hit Harriet with _Petrificus Totalus_ and the levitation charm.

"No, no, nothing like that," Emily said. "You're just so damn predictable. Your trace has been dancing across my map, following the same streets and rail lines almost every day. It's like you've been begging me to come after you."

The licorice fell out of Harriet's open mouth.

Emily cast a shield over herself and Harriet, rendering them both invisible to the rest of the people on the platform. The muggles didn't notice. Emily laced the shield with a noise-blocking charm, took out her knife, and carved the first line across Harriet's forehead.

"You stupid little mudblood twat."

She carved the second line, and the third, leaving a bleeding sideways _Z_ on Harriet's forehead.

Tears came from Harriet's frozen eyes. Her paralyzed hand still held the bag of licorice.

Emily Carrow carved the last line as the 2:15 train arrived. A man ran up the stairs and across the platform to catch the train. Other muggles disembarked and walked right past the limits of the shield and Harriet's maimed face – inches from her motionless body – unable to save her, or even know that she was there.

Emily rent her knife through Harriet's neck.

By the time the shield faded, Harriet had been dead for three hours.

* * *

The sound of a ringing telephone had become foreign to Aaron, and it took him a second to realize where the noise was coming from. The woman at the information desk turned her back on him and answered it. Aaron picked up the document she had left on the counter. He walked through the museum lobby and into the first exhibit hall. When he was sure no one could see him, he summoned a yard in front of a brick building in Edinburgh and pulled himself through.

While the building was located less than three blocks from Moody's flat, this location belonged to Aaron. The curtains in the windows had faded, but they were the same color - faded red - that they had been when he was seven years old. He had lived on the third floor for four months, until a teacher told his social worker he had stopped talking. Aaron had hated the group home Rachel moved him to more than he hated the school down the street.

Aaron left the yard and headed for Moody's flat. He took out a cigarette and held it between his lips. He struck his lighter three times before the flame caught the end.

Aaron inhaled and read over the document again as he walked.

_It's not a coincidence._

Ten minutes later, Aaron crushed out the cigarette and let himself in the front door of Moody's building. He took the stairs and knocked when he reached Moody's door.

There was no answer.

Aaron knocked again. Still nothing. 

He pulled himself _CRACK_ into Moody's living room, appearing in front of the fireplace. "Moody?"

The flat was dark. Aaron checked the kitchen, office, and bedroom. Moody wasn't home.

Aaron picked up the photographs he had left stacked on the kitchen table. He looked through the images until he found what he was looking for - a muggle photograph; one of the ones whose subject didn't move or make noise. At the edge of the image, partially obscured by the surrounding foliage and out of focus, he saw purple and blue fragments of cut glass, held together by a metal frame - a statue. Aaron flipped the photograph over and read Moody's handwriting. _Ethan Reynolds. 1986. Cannon Hill Park._

Ethan Reynolds had been killed in front of the same statue from the museum courtyard.

Without taking his eyes off the photograph, Aaron summoned a hallway in London and pulled himself through. He knocked on Juliet's door.

When she answered, he held up the photograph.

Juliet glanced at it. "Ethan Reynolds. Birmingham, United Kingdom. Cannon Hill Park. February 17, 1986."

Aaron walked inside her flat and closed the door behind him. "You've never been to this murder scene, right?"

"No," Juliet said. "That's one of the ones the muggle police investigated before The Ministry was putting any real effort into the murders. By the time the news of that killing reached me, it was three days later and Ethan's body was already in a morgue, so I went there to confirm that it was one of ours." 

She grabbed the photograph. "Did you pull this location off of someone?"

"Not exactly," Aaron said. "Do you see the colors here on the side? In the background? It's a statue. I found the same one in a courtyard at a museum in London that I pulled off one of my classmates."

"Show me," Juliet said.

Aaron took Juliet's arm and pulled them both into the courtyard. Juliet looked at the statue, then back at the photograph.

"I thought it was nothing," Aaron said. "But it can't be a coincidence. This world is too small. Look at this."

He handed Juliet the document he had nicked from the lady at the information desk.

"What is this?"

"The provenance for the statue. It's part of a private collection. There's four total, all here in the courtyard. The statues have been moved all over the United Kingdom for exhibitions and charity events. They were all on display in Cannon Hill Park in February of 1986."

Juliet read through the dates and locations on the provenance, then she saw the documentation of ownership.

"Fuck me sideways."

The statues belonged to Emily Carrow.

* * *

The Carrow residence was in Chelsea; a four-story townhouse located within walking distance of the Thames. The family's aversion to muggles and muggle-borns had never stopped them from enjoying the finer things the muggle world had to offer.

Juliet knocked on the front door. A nervous looking house elf answered.

"My mistress is not home," he said, peering around the door. "Please call again another time."

"When will your mistress return? I'm an Auror with The Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"Mistress may be out for many more hours."

"My assistant and I are willing to wait."

A voice from inside made the house elf jump. "Lazarus, let them inside. Show them to the trophy room and make tea. I've just returned. I will be with them in a moment."

Juliet and Aaron followed Lazarus into the house.

Staircases moved through the air above their heads - shifting and swinging between balconies and open hallways - as they walked through the foyer. A moving, twenty foot tall portrait of Marcus Carrow made Aaron uneasy. He choked back the memory of the man's corpse and the smell of rot as the eyes of Carrow's likeness followed him.

The sick feeling in his stomach intensified when Lazarus opened a set of double doors and Aaron realized what Emily Carrow had meant by trophy room. He recognized it immediately from the locations he had pulled off of Maddison. Charlie had told Aaron about people like this; sick fucks who hunted and killed dragons for sport. Five decapitated dragon heads were mounted on a wall above a long fireplace; grotesque and _screaming fuck they're screaming_ posed with their mouths open. Two stuffed griffins were on a balcony to the right. Aaron counted eight more dragon heads on the remainder of the walls. The furniture Lazarus lead them to was upholstered with green _Welsh Green_ dragon hide.

Aaron didn't sit down.

Juliet walked to a wall covered with weapons dating back to the medieval era - maces, harpoons, curved swords, and serrated knives.

Aaron looked _oh fuck_ up. The full body of a dragon floated in the air above them; hovering with gruesome magical assistance. It had a small head and short _baby teeth_ fangs. It had been too young.

Lazarus came back with tea. He left the tray on a round table by the furniture and left the room.

Emily Carrow appeared on the balcony - at the railing between the griffins. She looked down at her guests. "Fascinating, aren't they? Dragon hunting is something of a family tradition. I learned the sport from my mother and father long before I attended Hogwarts."

Juliet and Aaron turned around.

"You'll have to excuse me," Emily said. "I've had a long day and I was not expecting company. What do you want?"

"We were just at the museum in Whitechapel, admiring a statue of yours," Juliet said. "I have some questions about a few of the places you've used to showcase your art collection over the past few years."

"You'll have to be more specific. I have pieces all over the country."

"The purple and blue glass statue. It's part of a collection of four pieces. I believe it is called _Cascading Twilight_?"

"Ah, yes. Honestly, I've been thinking of selling that collection, if The Ministry is looking to improve its décor. I tired of it years ago, and I so hate keeping useless things around for too long."

Carrow studied Juliet. "What's your name, Auror?"

"Juliet Walker."

"Walker is a muggle name, Juliet."

"I sure as fuck hope so," Juliet said, "seeing as I'm muggle-born."

Emily looked at Aaron. "And who's this? He looks . . . young."

"My assistant, Aaron Stone."

"You're not the Aaron Stone from my son's class, are you? The one who can't use magic?"

 _I met your husband once, too, you sociopath._ "That would be me."

"Well, Juliet and Aaron, feel free to stay and enjoy the dragons and the tea, but I can't entertain you. I have a previous appointment and I must leave."

Juliet said, "If you come down here for a minute and speak with me, I assure you this won't take long."

"Anything you want to talk to me about, you can say from down there. After the way your people handled my husband's murder - which is to say, you didn't - I am not trusting of Aurors in any capacity."

Something was on Emily's forehead. It looked . . . like a black smear of makeup, flecked with gold. It was out of place for a woman who appeared so otherwise put together. It looked like the potion Juliet had found in the vial at the Rowle estate; the one sitting on the desk in her flat.

 _Enough of her games._ Juliet mouthed _GRAB HER_ to Aaron.

Aaron appeared behind Emily Carrow and grabbed her arm.

He lost the balcony and the trophy room is the resulting crescendo of Emily Carrow's locations. A bedroom with a wand sitting on top a chest of drawers. A lake in the country. The Great Hall. A dark, circular room with stone walls.

Aaron kept his grip tight on her arm as he moved through the micro-shift of layers. He saw an empty platform at a train station; the park where Ethan Reynolds had been killed; and a house where Carrow had opened the throat of a sixteen year old girl. The fire escape on the side of the apartment building where Albert Daven had died. The expansive fields of a wilderness. 

Aaron held on while Emily screamed at him and tried to tear him off her arm.

He saw the Wizengamot dungeon. And the flat where Samantha Jones had died.

Emily shoved her knife into Aaron's stomach. It was still covered with Harriet Taylor's blood.

Aaron screamed. He lost control of Emily's layers and they tumbled into the first one of his he saw - the Weasley's kitchen.

_Fuck. NO. Get her out of here._

Aaron pulled them back into the trophy room, holding his bleeding abdomen. Juliet hit Emily with a concussive wave of force and knocked her into the dragon hide covered furniture. The force fractured three of Carrow's ribs. She apparated back to the balcony. Aaron appeared in front of her. Carrow disapparated. Aaron watched her move through the layers, grabbed her with his blood-covered hands, and pulled her back into the trophy room.

Juliet grabbed the woman by the neck and shoved her on the floor. She held her wand to Emily's forehead. " _Petrificus Totalus_ , you bitch."


	73. You Swear, Do You?

**January 1990**

The fire was dying; reduced to smoldering embers and charred kindling. George took two logs off the rack next to the hearth and set them on the wrought iron andirons.

He pointed his wand at the fireplace. " _Incendio._ "

The cast flames caught the wood and the common room filled with firelight. 

George laid back on the rug and leaned over the parchment with Fred.

"Try it with 'I' again," George said, "'I' seemed to do something."

"I am up to no good," Fred said.

The parchment flickered - revealing broken lines of random letters and the same footprints they had watched it produce for the past few months - before it went blank again.

"I am _really_ up to no good," George said.

Nothing happened.

"I am really tired of talking to a piece of bloody parchment," Fred said, and rolled on his back. He threw an arm over his face.

George rubbed his eyes. "Maybe we should stop. I can only sleep through so much of Charms."

"We should," Fred said. "I just felt like we were getting somewhere. I hope the whole point of this parchment isn't to keep us too distracted to do anything fun."

"That _would_ at least make it highly dangerous, as implied by the drawer," George said.

"If that's the case, I swear that I will-"

"It flickered again!"

"I swear that I?" Fred said, rolling back onto his stomach and watching the parchment.

"I swear that I am up to no good," he tried.

The parchment flickered. The random letters shuffled until it said, _YOU SWEAR, DO YOU?_

"YES!"

_BUT HOW BADLY DO YOU SWEAR? HOW MUCH NO GOOD DO YOU WANT TO GET UP TO?_

"All of it," Fred said.

The words faded.

"I swear that I am up to no good."

_YOU ALREADY TRIED THAT, TROUBLE MAKERS._

"The bloody thing's alive," George said.

"And it's trying to help us," Fred said.

"I really swear that I am up to no good."

_THE ENTHUSIASM IS NOT GOING UNNOTICED. NOW, HOW HONESTLY DO YOU SWEAR IT?_

"I honestly swear that I am up to no good."

_TRY AGAIN._

"I seriously swear that I am up to no good."

_DON'T GET US WRONG, WE LOVE THE REFERENCE YOU JUST MADE; SIRIUSLY, WE DO. BUT YOU'RE STILL NOT QUITE THERE._

"Us?"

_US._

"Who are you?"

_WOULDN'T YOU LIKE TO KNOW? NOW, IF YOU WANT TO STAY A STEP AHEAD OF FILCH AND THE REST OF THEM, HOW SINCERELY DO YOU SWEAR IT? THIS MAP WON'T OPEN FOR JUST ANY TROUBLE MAKING, ONLY THE MOST WELL INTENTIONED._

"A map? A map of what?"

But the parchment didn't respond.

George wrote a word down on a spare sheet of parchment and slid it across the rug. Fred read it.

"Right, together then?"

George nodded.

"I SOLEMNLY SWEAR THAT I AM UP TO NO GOOD."

The parchment came alive. Ink spread across the folded front and sketched itself into the Hogwarts castle.

George read, "Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers, are proud to present-"

Fred read the words in the middle. "The Marauder's Map."

They opened the parchment and watched footprints move through the kitchen – house elves and staff members preparing breakfast. They watched footprints move in the dormitories as students woke up early to shower and study.

In the center of another hallway, they watched footprints marked _Argus Filch_.

"How accurate do you think this thing is?"

_COMPLETELY AND ENTIRELY ACCURATE. GO ON AND TRY IT OUT, IF YOU DON’T TRUST US._

Fred and George ran through the portrait of the fat lady. They stopped dead in their tracks when they saw Filch in the hallway - right where his footprints said he would be.

George said, "Merlin's beard."

Fred smiled. "They'll be no stopping us now."


	74. The Daily Prophet - 15 January, 1990

**_CARROW ARRESTED IN CONNECTION WITH THE MUGGLE-BORN MURDERS_ **

_Information regarding the breakthrough made in the muggle-born serial murders has finally surfaced from The Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The arrest of Emily Carrow - made three days before Christmas - has been confirmed to be the result of her established involvement with the killings. Carrow is believed to have murdered more than twenty of the eighty-seven victims, including two of the muggle-borns who were killed inside the Wizengamot dungeon in April of 1985. At this time, Carrow is being held in Azkaban, and is awaiting her trial before the Wizengamot._

_The arrest - and subsequent questioning - of Carrow has also resulted in the names of the remainder of those involved with the murders. The murderers - all believed to be pure-bloods - are as follows:_

_Kayal Rowle (the metamorphmagus - confirmed to be deceased)_

_Adesh Selwyn_

_Madelyn Bulstrode_

_Samson Black_

_Joseph Flint_

_Renee Gaunt_

_Theshan Nott_

_Facial composites of each of the killers are included herein and can be found on the remaining pages of this printing. Aurors are actively hunting for the killers and for any information leading to their arrests._

_The ritualistic killing of the muggle-born victims has also been confirmed to have been conducted as a means of, in Carrow's words, ". . . restoring the blood lines that have been tainted by impostors . . . " and ". . . removing impostors from our world . . ."_

_A search of the Carrow residence resulted in the removal of multiple knives believed to have been used to kill Carrow's muggle-born victims, along with several illegally obtained masks and battle cloaks, believed to have been stolen from the armory of The Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The remains of dozens of illegally hunted dragons were also found within the home and are in the process of being removed. There is evidence that, similar to Carrow's muggle-born victims, many of the dragons were maimed before they were slaughtered._


	75. Bloodsport

**January 1990**

Charlie crushed _The Daily Prophet_. His hands shook.

He walked across the courtyard and grabbed Rhodus Carrow.

"You fucking prick."

Charlie punched Rhodus in the face. Blood shot out of his nose.

Rhodus shoved Charlie against the stone wall and hit him until two of his teeth shattered. He saw the newspaper Charlie dropped on the ground.

"I knew you'd get your ball sack in a knot over the damn dragons, Weasley."

Rhodus was still taller, and broader, than the rest of the class of 1984, but Charlie was a close second. Charlie spit out a broken piece of molar and grabbed Rhodus by the front of his robe. He hurled him to the ground and jumped on his chest, crushing Carrow's arms beneath his knees and shoes. Charlie hit Carrow in the nose again. This time, he heard it crack.

He hit him again.

"Charlie! Stop!" Charlie barely heard Tonks. He shoved her back when she grabbed his shoulder.

Rhodus tried to pull his arms free, but Charlie had them pinned against the cobblestone. Blood covered Carrow's mouth and ran from his broken nose.

Tonks grabbed him again. "Charlie!"

"How many of those dragons did you kill, Carrow? Was it practice for all the muggle-borns you were going to massacre as soon as your mother passed you her knife?"

"I never hunted dragons you blood traitor."

Charlie hit him again.

Carrow's face was covered with blood. He choked.

"Charlie, stop!" Tonks said. "You'll kill him."

_"There is evidence that, similar to Carrow's muggle-born victims, many of the dragons were maimed before they were slaughtered."_

He didn't care if he did.

Tonks pressed her wand into Charlie's back. 

"Fuck, Charlie, get off him!" Aaron yelled from somewhere behind him.

Charlie hit the bloody mess that was Carrow's face.

Aaron grabbed Charlie, opened space, and pulled him into the forest.

Charlie shoved himself away from Aaron. "You fucking-"

"Yeah, I'm a real fucking arsehole, stopping you from killing someone in the damn Hogwarts courtyard."

Charlie's hands shook; his knuckles were split open. "I wasn't going to kill him, Aaron."

"That's not what it looked like to me and Tonks. What happened?"

_He’s right. You have to calm down._

Charlie spit out a mouthful of blood. "He's the same as his mother. They're all sadist fucks."

"I should have warned you about what we found in Carrow's house," Aaron said. "You shouldn't have had to read about it in the damn _Prophet_."

"I still would have broken his face." 

Charlie saw something on the ground behind Aaron. He walked across the clearing, bent down, and dug through the leaves, realizing where they were. He picked up a dragon scale.

_The first one. The ancient Welsh Green._

Charlie ran his fingers over the scale. "I've never dealt with things in the healthiest of ways, have I?"

"No, you really never have."

"I know what everyone says; that I'm too obsessed with animals; with dragons."

"Fuck them," Aaron said. "Charlie, I knew you all of ten minutes before you handed me a lizard you saved from being turned into a bag. It's who you are."

"It was a moke,” Charlie said, still looking at the dragon scale. He pocketed it. “You’re right. I attacked Carrow because of the article. I read the _Prophet_ , what it said about the dragon remains, and that's what made me go after him. He was standing there, laughing about something. Fucking laughing. I wanted to maim him like his family maimed the dragons they slaughtered."

"Well, you maimed his nose and jaw all over the cobblestone. Ten points to Gryffindor."

Charlie spit out more blood.

Aaron vanished. He came back with a towel wrapped around ice and handed it to Charlie.

"If you saw the . . . remains, do you think you could identify where the dragons came from? Where sick fucks like Emily Carrow have gone to hunt them?"

Charlie held the towel against his mouth. "If I can't, I know people who can. If I could talk to The Ministry about seeing the-"

Aaron shook his head. "The Ministry won't do shit. They'll destroy the remains. I can get you there before they clean out the rest of that house."

Aaron stuck out his hand.

"Alright," Charlie said. 

He took Aaron's hand. The forest disappeared.

The air cracked and they appeared in the trophy room.

Charlie walked through the room. His hand hovered over the furniture, then over the weapons on the wall. There were knives made for the sole purpose of removing dragon hide and heavy battering clubs for breaking bone.

_Sadists_

Charlie looked up, and saw the young dragon hovering above the room. He took out his wand and pulled the dragon's body down. As it descended, he aimed his wand at the furniture and moved it against a wall, clearing space. Aaron helped him. The dragon's body settled on the floor in front of the fireplace, beneath the watching _screaming_ heads of the others. Charlie ran his hands over the preserved corpse, looking for marks and wounds. He found the Carrow house sigil beneath the dragon's left wing, carved into the animal's flesh. There were more wounds – made by blades, not from fights with other dragons – all over the dragon's back and neck. The scales had been removed in precise diamond patterns.

_I should have killed the bastard._


	76. Left Open

**January 1990**

A subtle light emanated from the walls of the circular stone room at the center of the labyrinth. The effect was generated by an illumination charm bound to the mortar. The slanted angle of the resulting light kept Juliet and Aaron's faces covered in shadows, and made it hard to see the boundaries of the room.

This was where the members of the death cult – the muggle-born killers – had met to review their kills, recite their chants, and reward each other.

Juliet ran her hands over the walls, looking for breaks in the mortar, separations, openings, or, fuck, even a misaligned stone. The entrances to the network of diverging passageways and staircases she had seen in Carrow's memories – the entrances to the rest of the labyrinth – did not appear to exist anymore.

Juliet looked at Aaron. "Did you pull any tunnels or corridors off of Carrow? Anything like what I described?"

"No, just this room," Aaron said. "Do you still think it's part of a labyrinth?"

"Yes," Juliet said, "and a damn good one."

"Shouldn't there be a Minotaur or something coming after us?"

"Not coming after us, but its entrails and blood are probably lining the walls. Labyrinths use ancient blood magic. Minotaurs were never the guardians so much as the required sacrifices. Here, step back."

Juliet raised her wand and cast an Archimedes Field. It shimmered against the stone floor, ceiling, and walls. She followed the field to the opposite side of the room, where the edges pulled against the stone walls in defined, rectangular patterns. Juliet waved her wand and pulled at the air until three broken mirrors materialized. Fragments of fractured glass hung from the edges of the frames.

"These weren't in Carrow's memories. She always used the damn passageways."

"Are these . . . mirror portals?"

Juliet nodded. "Useless ones, now that they've been shattered. Whoever used them last didn't want anyone to follow them."

Aaron leaned closer.

"Don't touch them. They're unstable. They're hard enough to control when they're intact. There's a reason they're so damn illegal."

"How do they work?"

"Much like a portkey – only, instead of transporting you to one specific place, whoever is controlling them can change the destination at will. When you step into a mirror portal controlled by another witch or wizard, your life is in their hands. Whoever created this labyrinth, and whoever was controlling these mirror portals, has a good handle on ancient magic."

Juliet caught her reflection in one of the shards left hanging on the edge of the center mirror. She had avoided mirrors for months – she was tired of her exhausted expression and the dark circles beneath her eyes. The tired eyes and swollen blood vessels were still there, along with something else.

_What is that?_

There was something on her neck.

Juliet pulled back her coat. She leaned close to the mirror. A faint line originated from the front of her throat and wrapped around the right side of her neck. It was a scar.

She felt the raised skin and remembered the feeling of blood running between her fingers.

_What the fuck._

"I'll keep watching the layer for this room to see if any of them come back here."

_How long has this been on my neck?_

"Juliet?"

Juliet stepped back from the mirrors. "Right, well, we've gotten what we could for now. Let's get out of here."

She pulled her coat back over her neck and reached for Aaron's arm.

* * *

Juliet opened the mailbox in the lobby of her apartment building and removed the contents. Bills. Rubbish. And a letter from Beverly.

Juliet got in the lift, hit the button for her floor, and opened the letter.

_Jules!_

_I'll be back in London this summer. We should meet up again. Maybe for another coffee or dinner? I need updates from the non-muggle world - and maybe some more good news about the killings? I read in The Prophet that you've got all the killers' names now. I know it was you, even though they didn't print that. Well done._

_I thought you would like this photograph I found from our school days. I can't remember where I took it? Maybe somewhere in Hogsmeade? Anyway, enjoy it, and say hi to Rosaline for me._

_I'm staying safe and watching where I go; not taking the same routes home and all that, like you told me to do. I know you worry. I've got my wand and pepper spray on me at all times._

_Stay safe yourself, you fabulous Auror, you. See you in March?_

_Bev_

The photograph was taken in Hogsmeade with what must have been Beverly's muggle camera. Juliet was small; a First Year on the platform at the train station. Rosaline carried her on her shoulders, and both of them were laughing.

Juliet flipped the photograph over. Beverly had written, _Walker siblings - 1975._

Something about the photograph felt wrong.

Juliet slipped past her wards and opened her front door.

The letter and photograph fell out of her hands as she tore her wand out of her coat.

Four mutilated bodies with detached heads floated inside her living room. Blood covered her furniture and floors. The killer had used a knife from her kitchen drawer and left it embedded in the chest of one of the victims. A single word was carved into the left arm of each victim.

Shaking, Juliet read the dripping blood and put the words together.

_WE. AREN'T. FINISHED. JULIET._


	77. Inheritance

**February 1990**

The words on the folded piece of paper – muggle paper, not parchment – were typed and impersonal. Eni had to read them again.

_"I am writing to inform you that your father passed away from complications related to a heart valve replacement procedure on the ninth of December . . . "_

Eni couldn't focus; she read the estate lawyer's letter in fragments.

_" . . . it took me a long time to locate you, or to even confirm that you were still alive . . . "_

_" . . . as his only living relative, and his only child, the bakery and the associated flat located above are now yours, should you choose to claim them. If not, the properties can be sold and the . . . "_

"Eni, dear, is everything alright?"

_Right. That's the end of it. No reunion; no reconciliation._

"Eni?"

_Did I ever even want to see him again?_

_Now, I don't get a choice. I waited too long. I waited for him to come after me, to ACCEPT me, and he never did._

McGonagall leaned down in front of Eni and placed her hand on the girl's shoulder.

"It's my papa," Eni managed. She let the letter fall out of her hands and into her lap. "He's dead."

Minerva hugged Eni.

Eni felt numb. She didn't move.

When McGonagall pulled away, she went slow and careful, trying to read the girl's face. "I can make arrangements for you to attend his funeral; to go be with the rest of your family."

Eni shook her head. "No, he died in December. If there was a funeral, I missed it."

_And I don't have any other family._

Eni took the letter and stood.

"I'm so very sorry, dear. If you need me to-"

"I don’t know what I need."

McGonagall's hand was still on her shoulder. "Do whatever you feel you need to do. Please talk to me, if you find you want to talk about him. I don't want you to feel like you are going through this alone."

Eni closed the door of McGonagall's office behind her. She walked down the hallway, not caring where she was going – not paying attention.

She walked past her classmates, past The Great Hall, and through the courtyard. It was cold and she didn't have her coat. She crossed her arms over her chest and walked to the lake with her skin prickling and her breath fogging in the air.

Her father was dead.

_I waited too long._

_And he never came after me._

* * *

It took Eni three hours to figure out what she wanted to do, and it took her another hour to find Aaron. Tonks hadn't seen him since breakfast. He wasn't in the kitchen, the library, or at Hagrid's. He wasn't working with Filch. He wasn't in any of the classrooms or corridors.

"He's not in our common room or dormitory," Charlie told her. "If he's working with Moody and the other Aurors, he could be gone all day."

She asked Maddison.

Maddison laughed. "I don't know what you think I do with Aaron, but it doesn't involve a lot of talking."

"I can't say I'm surprised," Eni said. 

"Eni," Maddison said. "If Aaron doesn't want to be found, you won't find him. I don't have to tell you that."

But she did find Aaron – at the top of the staircase inside the North Tower. Eni only went up there when it was the last place left she hadn't looked.

Aaron sat on the landing at the top of the staircase with his back against the wall, leaning over a book bound in deteriorated black leather.

He didn't hear her and she startled him. Aaron closed the book. "What are you doing up here?"

"Looking for you," Eni said. "What is that?"

For a second, she thought he wasn't going to tell her, then he held out the book. She took it.

Eni opened _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ to the dog-eared page where Aaron had stopped reading. She turned the pages to the beginning of the chapter.

_"Chapter Nine – Unbound – Space Manipulation, Control, and Mirror Portals"_

"Aaron, this book is restricted," Eni said. "Where did you get it?"

"Where do you think?"

She stared at him.

"I nicked it from Dumbledore's office," Aaron said.

Eni looked through the pages and closed the book when she saw the chapters on blood spells. "You're not-"

"I just want to know what is going on; what I'm doing, what I'm up against, all of it. I'm not up here casting dark spells."

"I didn't think you were," Eni said. She handed the book back to Aaron. "I was more concerned that the Aurors have you involved in some of this shit. It's dangerous."

Aaron ignored her statement. He moved a loose stone, placed the book inside the top step, and covered it.

"What did you want me for?" 

Eni looked upset.

"I wasn't trying to scare you with that book, Eni. There's a reason I came up here alone."

"It's not that."

Aaron watched her lip quiver. "What happened?"

She handed him the letter.

Aaron unfolded the paper and read it.

Eni tried not to cry, but everything she had held inside broke when Aaron finished reading and looked back at her. 

Aaron pulled Eni against him and wrapped his arms around her. Her breath came in sharp gasps between sobs that shook her body as she cried against his chest. 

"I thought he would come after me," she sobbed. "I was so fucking stupid thinking that he would."

Aaron held her.

She didn't know how long they stood there.

When she pulled back, Aaron's shirt was soaked and snot ran from her nose. She wiped her face with her sleeve. "I have to get to Liverpool. Can you get me anywhere near it? Lee's in London with her mum. I have to see the bakery. It's all I have left."

"Forget near it," Aaron said. "I can take you right to the bakery, if that's where you want to go."

"You can?"

"I never told you what I can do, not really. It's not typical apparition. I can pull locations off of people when I touch them; places I haven't been to myself. The first time I saw your bakery was the day I ended up at St. Mungo's. I didn't know what I was seeing for a long time, but the bakery I see looks just the way you always described yours. I can take you there."

"That's not-"

"Not how apparition works? Believe me, I know. Do you still want me to take you?"

Eni nodded.

Aaron took off his ring.

She took Aaron's arm. The stairwell pitched forward. The bakery hurled at them as the air tore apart. She felt nauseous from the movement and disorientated from the distance. She didn't let go of Aaron until the floor beneath her seemed stable and solid again.

Eni walked through the bakery. Someone had cleaned it out. The shelves were empty - so were the coolers where they had always kept the cakes people ordered before they picked them up. Eni ran her fingers over the counter and pulled back a handful of dust.

"My parents bought this bakery right after they got married; after they moved from Japan. I lived here my entire life, before Hogwarts."

But no one would ever know that – the pictures of her and her mother that had always been taped to the wall behind the register were gone, along with the torn out pages of coloring books she had filled in and given to her father as gifts when she was little. _Gorgeous, like you_ , he'd say, and lift her up onto the counter for a kiss.

Aaron looked around the bakery, trying to imagine a younger version of Eni and realizing how much they had both grown up. "When did you know? That you could use magic?"

Eni smiled. "It was definitely different than what happened to you. Not that I knew what had happened to me either. Neither did my mum. I was six. We were in the back kitchen, mixing flour into a bowl. I got excited for some reason and all the ingredients just . . . exploded. It was a mess. It took a few more incidents like that before I realized something was going on with me, that I was causing things like that to happen. When Professor Sprout came here to find me, everything made sense."

Eni walked into the back room and turned on the lights. Aaron followed her. Everything looked so much smaller than it was in her memories. She looked in the bathroom and half expected to see clumps of black hair in the rubbish bin, but all she saw was how tiny the room was. The edge of the sink couldn't have been more than three feet from the wall.

_He never came after me, but maybe I never needed him to. Maybe it is better this way._

Aaron looked at the stained mirror and the broken sink. "I saw this room, too, in the layers of places. I didn't know it was yours."

Eni looked in the mirror. She didn't see a scared little girl anymore.

"It was," Eni said. "And it is again."


	78. Patterns

**February 1990**

The Department of Magical Law Enforcement was deserted and dark at five o'clock in the morning. Alastor Moody walked toward the only lit room – a converted storage closet located at the far end of the hallway leading to the armory and infirmary. Access to the hallway - and the former storage closet - was restricted with wards, but the precautionary barriers recognized Moody and allowed him to pass.

Ten maps floated through the air inside the room, ranging in sizes and layouts. Each map was filled with trails of flickering lights moving over streets, rail lines, and through buildings – the much debated muggle-born trace. Moody watched the lights strung across the drifting maps. There were thousands of them now – muggle-born witches and wizards – spread out from London to Glasgow and Oxford to Liverpool. Cassio had been busy.

The boxes that had once littered the storage closet had been stacked and moved into the hallway, and a desk had been shoved against one of the walls inside the room. The size of the desk, and the relatively diminutive size of the doorway, indicated that a reduction charm had been involved in the process.

Cassio watched the patterns of moving lights and made notes on parchment. He didn't look up when Moody came in.

"So, you're back," he said, writing.

"I'd like to think I was missed," Moody said, "but you seem to have more than held your own while I was away."

"You can thank Juliet for the progress we've made. She's the one who linked Emily Carrow to the murders, her and that appariting kid."

"And you?"

Cassio stopped writing and looked up. "I've been living in this room; finding patterns in all of the data we've collected on muggle-borns. And realizing that this controversial trace of mine is no longer a relevant tool for The Ministry."

Moody watched the lights move across the maps. "I doubt that. Whatever happened to cross-referencing the muggle-born signatures with police reports?"

"That stopped working when the killers stopped tailing muggle-borns before killing them. They used to follow targets around until they confirmed that their victims were, in fact, muggle-born before opening their necks. Now that they've got the trace, they just kill their victims upon the first encounter."

"That's bad news."

Moody's blue eye looked down at the sheets of parchment on the table around Cassio. There were lists of names and clusters of locations; lines linking some of the names and crossing over each other; data arranged in patterns Cassio had decided were useful. Moody's eye shifted and focused on the sheets of parchment buried beneath the top layers; notes he could only see because of his eye. He saw paragraphs crossed out and re-written, more names, diagrams, and sentences that didn't mean anything to him.

 _" . . ._ _spell embedment theory WORKS but results in diseased tissue clustering and . . . "_

_" . . . make sure to check for patterns of permanence when this proves to be more useful . . . "_

Cassio stood up and picked up the sheets of parchment. "Juliet isn't here, if that's who you're looking for."

"I had hoped to meet with both of you and get myself up to speed," Moody said. "I've been gone too long."

"Juliet hasn't been to The Ministry in three weeks, not since before what happened at her flat. Did you hear? Four muggle-borns were executed inside of her home and left for her to find. It . . . did something to her. I'm concerned about her mental state. Bones told her to take some time off."

He meant Madam Amelia Bones, the new director of The Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Adelaide Burke's replacement, and, in Moody's opinion, a much better choice for the position.

"I hadn't heard about that," Moody said. _That was personal. They know who's after them and they want to hurt her._ "Where is she?"

Cassio took his wand and aimed it at one of the maps of London. All of the lights flickered out – except for one. He enlarged the remaining trace. Moody recognized the intersecting streets in front of Juliet's building.

"At the scene of the crime – drinking and sleeping on her living room floor. The last time I checked on her, she was solidly pissed, and can you blame her?"

Moody couldn't.

Cassio raised his wand and re-lit the map. Moody kept his eye on the spark that was Juliet.

"Bones is considering taking her off the case," Cassio said.

"You're her twin, what do you think? Does she need time away from this to let herself recover?"

"She needs to see this through. We all do. We are close to the end."

"Then go grab some of those pastries she likes from The Old Post Office Bakery and let's get her back on her feet."

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Moody knocked on Juliet's door. He listened to three locks slide out of place while Cassio walked towards him with a brown paper bag. Juliet opened the door, wearing the same sweatpants and tank top she had on the last time Cassio had stood at her door. 

Juliet left the door open and walked back inside. She picked two empty bottles off the floor of her living room and brought them into the kitchen.

"Am I that much of a mess that you went and got Moody and croissants?" she said over her shoulder.

"He came back all on his own," Cassio said.

Moody followed Cassio inside. Juliet's living room had been stripped of all furniture. The expanse of remaining space made their footfalls echo. The walls, and part of the floors, were covered with parchment and overlapping pieces of string comprising various collages. The names of the six known killers were at the epicenters. Moody looked at the notes and saw an overabundance of _???_ and _WT ABSOLUTE F_ in Juliet's blunt handwriting.

_She's not holed up in here to recover. She's secluding herself to find these sick tossers._

Juliet watched Moody read her notes and follow her pieces of twine. "Pretty shit, right? How six people can disappear off the face of the goddamn planet without a trace? All these names are like alternate versions of Kayal fucking Rowle. In some cases, their names were literally burned out of The Ministry's records and records kept by their families. Someone put a lot of working into making them all disappear."

Juliet took the paper bag from Cassio, opened it, and pulled out an apple turnover.

Cassio watched her. "Are you still drunk?"

Juliet took a bite. "Stick to the topic at hand, alright, Cass?"

She handed him a muffin and looked back at Moody. "There's been eight killings since the four in my flat. Printing the names of the killers accelerated their pace."

"Because you scared them," Moody said. 

"I did," Juliet said, "until I started going mental."

"You're not going mental," Moody said. "You've put your life into this case for five years. You're allowed to not always have your shit together."

"No, I'm going mental," Juliet said. She walked up to Cassio and pulled back her hair. "Tell me you can see this."

"See what?"

"The scar on my neck. Do you remember me having this? Because I don't. I'm mental and I'm imagining things."

Cassio touched Juliet's neck and ran his fingers along the raised line. "You aren't imagining anything, Juliet."

"And you're not mental," Moody said. He looked back over Juliet's notes and facial composites. "You've got these bastards running. We are going to go after them like we went after the Death Eaters during the war."


	79. Recollection

**March 1975**

A strip of worn parchment clung to the blown-glass vial with the assistance of an adhesion charm. The handwriting on the label had been set with anti-aging spells; preserved through the centuries by those tasked with passing the memory through the generations. Re-living the past kept the present in perspective, his father told him. There were wrongs that should never be forgotten.

_Let him show you. He thinks you haven't gotten it yet._

Theshan Nott glanced at the handwriting.

_Natasha Rosier Nott. 1643._

Theshan emptied the contents of the vial into the pensieve on his father's desk and submerged his head.

_The girl wasn't much older than he was – seventeen or eighteen – with bright eyes and tangled hair. She knelt on a floor covered with dirt and straw, with her legs tucked beneath her. A chain secured the iron shackle around her neck to a post. Her bare feet were stained black. Jagged W’s had been cut into the backs of her hands._

_Natasha stretched out her maimed hands in a desperate attempt to conjure something from nothing. There wasn't anything she could do._

_The barn door opened and a man walked inside. Natasha shrank back against the post._

_"Where is it? After all of this time, have you still not completed the task?"_

_Natasha said nothing._

_"I paid a fair amount for you, and each day you prove how foolish I was to do so."_

_"I cannot summon provisions where none exist."_

_The man slapped her. "You useless witch."_

_Natasha held her cheek. "If you allowed me a wand or perhaps-"_

_"Do you take me for a fool?"_

_Natasha threw up her hands to protect her face. The man grabbed her shoulders and shoved her onto the floor. He got on top of her and held her down. Natasha thrashed against him. She pulled one of her arms free, and reached up and pulled a knife out of the sheath at the man's waist._

_The man tried to grab the knife. She pulled it across his throat. Blood ran from the man's neck. Natasha pushed him off of her._

_The man choked._

_When he stopped moving, Natasha looked through his pockets. She used the key she found in his vest to unlock the iron shackle. She rubbed her bruised neck, took the knife, and ran from the barn._

Theshan pulled his head out of the pensieve.

Mordecai Nott looked at his son. "Natasha was held captive by muggles and made to perform magic against her will. Her parents, brothers, and sister were beheaded in 1635, after attempts to burn them at the stake were unsuccessful. Natasha was only saved because she was too young to display any magical abilities. She was kept under lock and key for eight years of her life."

Mordecai lowered the vial into the pensieve and collected the memory. He pushed the cork into place and watched the strands shift behind the blown-glass. "These were the last moments of her oppression."

Theshan braced his arms on either side of the pensieve and kept his head level.

Mordecai took another vial out of his cabinet and set it on the desk.

"If you need to take a moment to collect yourself-"

"I don't need a moment," Theshan said.

"You seem fatigued," Mordecai said.

"I'm not," Theshan said. "I'm just starting to find all of this unnecessary."

"You find re-living your ancestors' pain bores you?"

"I didn't mean any disrespect."

"You're impatient."

_No, I've moved onto the next logical step._

"If you think memories are not necessary, then you won't value them when you tamper with them."

_On the contrary, father; memory is everything. I know that, more than you ever will._

"Are you listening to me, Theshan?"

"I am."

_While you've had me leaning into your bowl every night, I've looked into solutions for making sure none of this ever happens again._

Mordecai pointed to the vial on his desk. "Again."

_Why, father, do you make everything take so long?_

"How many more were you going to show me tonight?"

His father took two more vials out of the cabinet. Theshan didn't bother reading the names. He removed the corks and poured all three memories into the bowl.

"You can't-"

Theshan raised his wand and muttered a spell. "I can, if I keep them from congealing."

"Where did you learn that?"

_In my bedroom, while you were in here re-living the past instead of doing something about it._

" _Advanced Recollection Methods_. You were the one who gave it to me. You'll be glad to know that it has also helped me with my . . . condition."

Theshan stuck his head in the pensieve and watched the memories in rapid succession.

_A wizard chained to a wall - screaming - surrounded by muggles holding swords to his neck._

_A witch chained to the bow of a ship, choking on seawater and holding her arms above her head, trying to keep her cast shield in-place through a storm._

_An old wizard appariting knights across a battlefield - back and forth, back and forth, back and forth - until he collapsed from exhaustion and was trampled._

Theshan raised his head. 

"I know you're tired of my pensieve," Mordecai said. "But the struggles of our ancestors and the atrocities committed against them cannot be forgotten."

Theshan collected the memories and made sure each one went back into its respective vial, then he set them on the desk in front of his father.

"Every time you pass a muggle on the streets, I want you to remember what they have done. When you see muggle-borns using our spells and living in our world, I want you to remember what their ancestors did to ours. I want you to feel anger at seeing them live among us - unaware of the blood on their hands."

Theshan would remember, feel anger - and do so much more.


	80. Should I Stay or Should I Go

**March 1990**

The courtyard was deserted when Aaron came back from his run, breathing hard and covered in sweat. He hadn't made it as far as he wanted to. Somewhere in the forest, not even to the second clearing yet, he had to stop. Nothing felt right, he had a headache, and _Tarda Nauseam_ wasn't doing anything for him.

He sat on a bench and leaned back against the wall. He pulled off the ring and watched his hand until his fingers shook. It didn't take long for the rest of his body to do the same.

_Micro jumps._

He was shifting too fast to perceive the damn layers.

_Focus and make it stop._

He looked at his watch. He had to meet Moody in London in two hours.

He winced, hit with abrasive fragments of sound; traffic, voices, and dishes clanging in the Hogwarts kitchen.

Aaron turned up the volume on his Walkman and closed his eyes. 

_" . . . it's always tease, tease, tease . . . "_

_I'm tired, that's what this is. I can still control this. I stayed up too late in the tower all week and jumped too far taking Moody and Juliet back and forth across the country._

He pulled the ring back on to stop the noise and the shaking.

_". . . one day it's fine and next it's black, so if you want me off your-"_

Maddison pulled the headphones off Aaron's head, leaned over him, and sucked on his bottom lip. Aaron opened his eyes and stopped the tape.

"Take me somewhere," she said.

"I was trying to save energy. I have to-"

Maddison touched his chest. "You're soaked."

"I was running."

She ran her fingers over his shoulder, where the fabric of his shirt had frayed and torn open. "Is this another one of Bill Weasley's old shirts?"

Aaron's head still pounded. "So, what if it is?"

"Calm down, Aaron, I didn't mean anything by it."

"Yes, you did."

Her hand was still on his body. "Are you going to take me somewhere or what?"

"You mean before anyone sees you out here slumming it with the kitchen staff?"

Maddison removed her hand. "If you want to keep taking my clothes off, I need you to take the chip off your shoulder."

"I don't have a-"

"You really do."

"Fine," he pulled the ring off, "you want to go somewhere?"

Aaron summoned the layers but nothing happened – _fuck_ – not even the damn crescendo of noise. He pulled harder until he forced space apart and found what he was looking for – an abandoned house in Glasgow with dust-covered furniture and dirty floors. He took Maddison's arm and pulled her through. 

"Here, Maddison, no one will see us now, happy?"

He was surprised how much effort it took, but he was too frustrated to care if he couldn't get them back to Hogwarts.

_Let her figure out how to get us somewhere for once._

"Where did you take me?"

"To see the damn chip on my shoulder or whatever you think it is," Aaron said. "I know where you come from, so you should see where I lived for once."

He watched her look at the deteriorated wallpaper, the old furniture, and the stains on the kitchen counters. The couple who had fostered him here for a few months had moved on for whatever reason and left the things they didn't want behind.

"You lived here?"

"For a bit," Aaron said. "Here, and a lot of places like it. I didn't grow up with a garage full of whatever kind of cars your father collects."

"Do you want me to feel sorry for you or something, Aaron?"

"No," Aaron said. _I want you to stop using me and relate to me for a goddamn minute._ "I want you to realize I'm not one of your trust fund friends."

"I just wanted to have fun with you, for fuck's sake."

"Right. I'm good enough to fuck, but not good enough for you to actually be seen anywhere near me."

Maddison didn't respond for a minute.

"What do you want from me, Aaron?"

_I don't know. I wanted you to care or some shit. Why did I think you were capable of that?_

"I want you to give a shit about something besides yourself."

"You don't make it easy. You didn't even tell me you were at St. Mungo's over Christmas. I didn't know until I reached under your shirt and felt your goddamn stomach. You still won't tell me what happened. You blame me for not caring more, but, fuck, you don't tell me anything."

"Would you listen if I did?"

"Honestly? I don't know."

Aaron walked across the empty living room. _What the fuck am I doing._

Maddison watched him. "What do you want, Aaron? For this to be more than what it is? For me to hold your hand, sit next to you at breakfast, and write you love notes like a Third Year?"

"I never wanted you to love me, Maddison. I never had any illusions about what we were doing. I just wanted you to be human toward me. Toward anyone. I should have known nothing would change. You're so detached from the rest of us."

"All you lot ever wanted to do was live in the Hogwarts bubble and pretend there wasn't anything outside of the damn wizarding world."

"There isn't for us, don't you get that? Look around. I've got nothing outside of the life I built at Hogwarts and in the wizarding world. I don't have anything to fall back on."

"I did, and I didn't want to pretend I didn't anymore. Not one of you cared when I stopped coming around."

"Eni did. You hurt her, you know."

"Of course this is about Eni."

"Fuck," Aaron said, "no it isn't. You’re not getting it.”

"I get it. All you lot ever wanted was my open tab at The Three Broomsticks-"

"We never gave a shit that you had money, and you know it. Guess what? Even with all your money, you're still not one of those arseholes you left us for. I bet they all still look down on you."

"You're right. I'm still just a mudblood like you."

Aaron didn't say anything.

"If you wanted me to relate to something, Aaron, it won't be to all of this shit you came from. I relate to those arseholes more than you will ever understand. I relate to the cars, art shows, clothes that don't have holes in them, and whatever else you want to judge me for. You're the same as me - judging me for doing what I want; for making the friends I want - you just think you're morally superior for some reason. But, you know what? All those people at my table? The ones you lot talk shit about? They make me feel like I belong, even as a mudblood. That should tell you everything you need to know about how much I don't want to go back to dealing with the rest of you."

”Good,” Aaron said. “You'll never have to again.”

Maddison folded her arms across her chest. "Take me back."

Aaron's hands still shook, but none of the layers were responding to him. He pulled the ring back on. He should have done it sooner to save energy, he was just so damn angry he'd forgotten.

"I don't want to be here with you anymore, Aaron. Get me out of wherever this is."

For once, he knew. "Glasgow."

She grabbed his arm. Aaron shook her off of him. "I physically can't jump us back yet. So, wait, or apparate yourself."

"I can't apparate."

Aaron knew that. He just wanted to make the point. "Then pay someone to drive you or send an owl or call one of your friends to come get you. I'm not your transportation service any more."

Maddison shoved past him. ”Aaron, I hope this sounds familiar. Go fuck yourself.”

He heard the front door open and slam.

_Fuck._

_That was just . . . fuck._

He looked at his wrist. One hour until he had to be in London.

He pulled his headphones back on.

_" . . . come on and let me know, should I stay or should I go . . . "_

The real bitch of it was that he didn't have a choice at the moment.

Aaron looked out the window at the residential street. Maddison lit a cigarette. She sat on the curb, smoking.

_Shit. I'm the one who brought her here. I can’t leave her._

_I just need a minute. Then, I'll jump us back._

Aaron leaned against the dirty living room wall and waited for something to go right for once.


	81. Stranded

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so, 100,000 words later. (is that right?) Thanks to everyone who is still reading this story. I'm honored you're here, and grateful for the feedback, comments, and laughs. I know you have choices in your fan fiction and what a commitment it is to follow a story, and it is really rad that you decided to spend your time on this monster. This is the first thing I have written just for the fun of it in YEARS and I've never wrote fan fiction before, so thanks for bearing with me while I figured out all the intricacies of AO3 and went back to add where clarification was needed (not as often as I would have thought . . . go figure). Thanks, also, for treating this work with the reality checks it so often needs. Please never hesitate to let me know when I fuck it all up.

**March 1990**

The pain in Aaron's head hadn't subsided much twenty minutes later when he left the abandoned house and closed the door behind him. He looked back at it from the curb. The house was smaller than he remembered – shoved inside a cluster of similar residences that didn't have yards or driveways, just short sidewalks that led to the street. He couldn't remember much about living here, only that his fosters had made a lot of porridge and a kid a few years older than him had made fun of him for not sounding like he was from Scotland. His social worker was English and college educated – that was what had stuck. Rachel had spent a lot of time making sure he'd never slipped into using any of the rougher regional dialects.

_"You'll never get adopted if you keep that up; talking like a delinquent."_

Turns out, none of that had mattered. His mental patient genes had been more than enough to make sure no one kept him around for very long.

The setting sun cast long shadows over the pavement. Aaron walked past a man with a leashed dog, two kids on battered bikes, and an old woman walking slowly in the same direction. A car horn honked on the next cross street.

Maddison still sat on the cracked concrete curb. Three crushed cigarettes were on the sidewalk next to her.

Aaron stood behind her. "I thought you wanted to get out of here."

"As it turns out, watching people live their non-magical lives for awhile isn't all that bad."

Aaron sat down a few feet away from her and leaned against a splintered telephone pole covered with torn flyers and staples. She offered him a cigarette but he shook his head. A fag wouldn't do anything to stop his temples from pounding.

Maddison watched a woman walk past them. "You can't tell me you don't miss this; the rest of the world."

Aaron shrugged. He didn't.

"All these muggles living without magic. I used to wonder how they all got along, until I realized they had what I wanted – a life without all of the bollocks of the wizarding world."

Aaron didn't say anything. He was still mad at her, trying to figure out how to spend less energy without laying all the way down on the sidewalk, and, besides, he didn't think it was any better out here. He'd seen enough of the regular world to know better; been on the receiving end of its less than pleasant dynamics one too many times. She wouldn't understand. He supposed it must be different when you came from money and had a family that gave a toss about you.

Maddison said, "You look like shit."

"That's helpful."

"What's wrong with you? Did you reach some . . . apparition limit?"

"It takes a lot of energy to-"

"Apparate long distances, I know. I wrote the same reports you did. It's never been a problem for you before."

"Well, now I'm knackered. And it doesn't help that magic has never played nice with me."

"Some things never change," Maddison said. She brushed ashes off her jeans and stood up. "Right, then. Let's see if our muggle heritage can get us out of this city. Any chance you remember what's around here? Or which direction we should even walk?"

Aaron pointed over his shoulder. "There's a convenience store two blocks over with a payphone, or there was in 1983."

"That will do. If I call my father, he can drive up from Manchester, or wire me money for bus tickets - something to get us back to Hogwarts before class in the morning."

Aaron stood up and followed Maddison. He didn't even bother to look at his watch. He was never going to make it to London in time to meet Moody, and it wasn't like he could call and tell him. Juliet had a phone in her kitchen - he had seen it - but he didn't know her number, or if it even worked.

The payphone was right where Aaron remembered it – on the curb in front of the SPAR convenience store. Maddison walked up to it and reached into her pockets. She turned one inside-out before shoving it back into place.

"I don't have muggle change."

Two men came out of the store, and a woman walked inside.

Maddison reached inside her boot, where her wand was tucked. "Cover for me, yeah?"

Aaron moved to stand between her and the rest of the street.

Maddison flicked her wand. " _Accio_ coins."

It was good thinking, Aaron thought. Lost change pulled itself out of a storm drain and off the sidewalk. One pence even floated out of the open window of a parked Astra. The coins drifted into Maddison's open hand. Aaron looked around. He didn't think anyone had noticed.

Except an old woman across the street. Aaron stared at her. A scarf covered most of her face, but he was sure it was the same old woman he had walked past a minute ago.

Maddison slid a few of the coins into the payphone slot.

_She's following us._

Maddison dialed her home telephone number. The phone rang. No one answered.

The old woman crossed the street and walked toward them.

The phone kept ringing.

"We have to go," Aaron said.

"Give it a minute. He'll answer. He's probably just working late and can't-"

Aaron grabbed her arm. "Now."

Maddison shoved him off. "Let go of me, Aaron."

Aaron looked past the old woman, across the street, and down the other way. A man came at them. Aaron recognized his face - from Juliet's living room wall.

_Samson Black._

_Then the old woman is Madelyn Bulstrode._

Aaron yanked Maddison into the convenience store. The dropped handset kept ringing.

"We're being followed. By two of the killers."

"Are you sure?"

"Pretty fucking sure."

Aaron pulled Maddison through the store, past a man taking a soda pop out of a refrigerator and the woman who had just walked in. She was checking oranges to see how long they had been sitting out.

"They can't know we're muggle-born. We haven't even been outside of Hogwarts for that long."

 _Fuck. This is my fault._ "They knew as soon as we left Hogwarts. They're using a trace like the one the Ministry has."

_And Maddison is just a light on a map to them; just the target they felt like going after today._

Aaron looked through the shelves. Madelyn Bulstrode came in the front door and hit the man behind the counter with the stunning spell before he could turn around to greet her. Samson Black hit the man with the soda pop and the woman. Her chosen oranges rolled on the floor.

"We should run for it."

"Running won't stop the trace," Aaron said. He pulled out his wand – 7" of ebony with a dragon heartstring core. _Compact, for travel_ , Ollivander had told him last year. Brilliant, except he couldn't travel anywhere right now. "We have to stop them."

"The killers? Are you mental?"

The shelves in front of them exploded. Canned goods, boxes of cereal, and pieces of the shelving rained down on top of them. 

Maddison shoved through the debris and raised her wand. " _Stupefy!"_

Her blast missed Samson Black.

Aaron yelled, " _Stupefy!_ " and nothing happened.

_Fuck me._

" _Protego!_ " Maddison's shield blocked whatever spell Samson Black shot at them.

Aaron grabbed Maddison's arm and pulled her through the door to the back of the store. They tripped over cardboard boxes, crates covered in saran wrap, and cleaning supplies.

They found the back door and shoved it open.

Aaron pulled at the exhaustion and prodded it until it became bile that rose in the back of his throat. He pulled off the ring and grabbed Maddison. The air split -

\- and they appeared ten feet from the door, inside the alleyway.

"Fuck," Aaron said. 

"Now what?"

"We can't run and I can't do shit, so listen. They'll use _Petrificus Totalus_ first to immobilize us."

"You don't know that."

"I do. If they hit me, use _Finite Incantatem_ to break it, or leave me and stay out of their range. If they hit you-"

"I'm fucked."

Maddison got between Aaron and the back door of the store and raised her wand.

_CRACK_

Samson Black appeared next to Aaron, grabbed him, and disapparated. They appeared inside a dark stairwell. Aaron tripped - disoriented.

_Fuck. That's what that feels like._

Black hit Aaron with a blast that knocked him against the stairs. Before Aaron could recover, Samson grabbed him and yanked him to his feet. His Walkman tumbled out of his pocket and fell down the staircase, breaking apart. "What are you doing with a mudblood, you little shit?"

Well, seeing as he couldn’t use magic -

Aaron punched Black in the jaw, twisted out of his grip, and ran up the staircase.

A blast from behind missed him - and made the next flight of stairs explode. Aaron threw up his hands as pieces of concrete turned into projectiles. 

And felt something else.

_It's coming back._

Maybe it was the adrenaline. He felt magical energy. Just enough.

With nowhere to go, Aaron faced Black and raised his wand. " _Diffindo!_ "

The skin on Samson's face and hands shredded. He screamed.

Aaron saw a flicker. It was enough. He jumped back into the alleyway behind the convenience store, glad it wasn’t far from wherever the stairwell was. It was empty.

Black appeared in front of him, his face covered in blood. Black hit Aaron with a concussive blast laced with blood from his torn hands. Aaron was thrown into the back wall of the store. 

Aaron gasped, got on his knees, and screamed, " _Stupefy!_ "

Samson dodged the spell.

_Of course he did. Stop saying them out loud._

Aaron raised his wand, thought _Stupefy_ , and nothing happened.

_Come ON_

Samson charged Aaron and hit him with -

Aaron screamed. And felt broken glass laced with razor wire – glass scraping down his arm and inside his chest; fire forcing its way _FUCK_ between his _MAKE IT STOP_ ribs and prying them _STOP STOP_ apart. He didn't realize he was _STOP FUCK PLEASE STOP_ screaming all the words out loud.

Samson cast a spell to shut Aaron up – he was too loud. The muggles would come. Aaron didn't notice.

Aaron pulled _OH HOLY FUCKING CHRIST PLEASE STOP_ at space, looking for any layer. He pulled himself through, back into the abandoned house, but the unforgiveable curse was still on him. He writhed and summoned Samson's layers, looking _WHERE IS SHE_ for Maddison.

Aaron _STOP HAVE TO MAKE HIM STOP IT_ pulled himself back into the alleyway.

Samson decided Aaron had enough and released the curses. "You can't apparate away from it, boy."

Aaron shook and spit blood on the pavement. He had bitten through the inside of his mouth.

 _WHERE'S MY WAND?_

He had dropped it when Samson hit him with the torture curse.

Aaron ran back to where he had been thrown against the wall. Black came after him with his wand raised. He fired red flashes at Aaron, who dropped to the pavement to avoid them.

The next flash of light was green - _Avada Kedavra_ green. Aaron pulled himself through space to avoid it -

\- and still appeared in the alley. He didn't have enough energy to get away from Black.

_He’s going to kill me. I have to find Maddison and get us away from here._

Aaron saw his wand. He grabbed it, raised it, turned, and thought _CONFRINGO._

Black's body exploded.

Aaron didn't have time to think about what he had done, or the pieces of flesh and bone now covering the wall behind him. He summoned the layers with the fleeting remains of his energy, desperately looking for Maddison and trying to feel for her. He thought of her passing him a bottle of fire whiskey when they were thirteen years old, pulling headphones off his head in the library, the way her legs looked wrapped around his waist, her expressions of pleasure when he touched her like she wanted, and her angry voice echoing in the empty house. It worked. She wasn't in Black's layers, she was _THANK FUCK_ back inside _NO SHE'S_ the convenience store.

Aaron appeared between Maddison's paralyzed body and Madelyn Bulstrode. He hit Bulstrode with _Stupefy_ before she could hit him with _Petrificus Totalus_.

He faced Maddison. " _Finite Incantatem."_

Maddison fell on the floor and coughed. A single line had been carved into her forehead.

_She's fine. She's alive._

_I killed Black. I just-_

Aaron staggered.

Sirens came from the street. Someone had seen the unconscious body of the convenience store attendant through the window and heard the explosive sounds of cast spells coming from the alleyway. Flashing, bright red and blue lights filled the store and reflected off the refrigerators.

They had disturbed the muggles.

Aaron grabbed Bulstrode's unconscious body, Maddison's shoulder, and pulled them into the alleyway. It was as far as he could get. He fell against the wall. The sirens were loud. It wouldn't take them long to check the alley.

_One more jump. Just one more._

Aaron pulled them as far away as he could - into the abandoned house. He collapsed on the floor, pulled the ring back on, and threw up.

Maddison looked at Bulstrode's unconscious body. She kicked her. 

"Where's the other one? The man?"

Aaron didn't respond.

_She's alive; we're alive._

_Because I killed someone._

A horn honked outside. 

Aaron and Maddison looked at each other. The horn sounded again.

Aaron wiped blood and vomit off his mouth. "What now?"

Maddison went to the window. "There's . . . a bus."

"What?" Aaron pulled himself off the floor.

There was. A purple bus.

A young man, not much older than they were, stepped out, straightened his hat, and waved.

_I'm going mental for sure._

The young man yelled toward the house. "Are you in there? Hello?"

Maddison walked through the house and opened the front door. "What do you want?"

"I heard the commotion. You're lucky I was in the area and feeling generous, seeing as you didn't bother to try hailing me the customary way. After I saw a few flashes coming from the alleyway though, I got the message. I had seen you sitting back out here earlier and wondered then if I should collect you. I'm glad you came back here. You looked a bit forlorn with your cigarettes and sour expression the last time I passed through."

"Excuse me, who are you?"

"Stan Shunpike." He bowed. "Knight Bus Conductor, at your service."

Maddison left the door open behind her and walked down the front steps. She wiped the trail of blood off her forehead. "Is that . . . what this is? What is a night bus?"

" _Knight_ Bus. Look, love, are you a stranded witch, or not?"

"So, what if I am?"

"Do you want a ride, or not?"

"A ride to where?"

"Anywhere you need to go. Why, I could take you from here to London and back, or to-"

"Oi, brilliant!"

Maddison looked back at the house and motioned for Aaron to come outside. Aaron staggered out of the house with Bulstrode over his shoulder. 

Stan looked at the limp body. 

Aaron grimaced. "Sure you still want to give us that ride?"


	82. Slack

**July 1994**

A ringing phone receiver dangling from its cord, a shattered and crushed Walkman lost in a dark stairwell, cigarette ends on a sidewalk and the smell of ashes -

_" . . . it's always tease, tease, tease . . . "_

The taste of blood coating the inside of his mouth, the convenience store where someone had taken him to buy oats and milk as a kid, coins floating through the air into an open palm -

_" . . . you're happy when I'm on my knees . . . "_

Frustrated and angry young voices echoing off empty walls, an old woman with a scarf, a bus horn -

_"Go fuck yourself."_

Aaron's eyes shot open.

_GLASGOW WITH MADDISON_

One of his memory keys.

It wasn't all there. It was distorted and out of order; fragmented and damaged. But if pieces of it were there, if he could get the rest back and he hadn't lost all of his mind -

It meant everything right now. It meant he was still _him_.

_GLASGOW WITH MADDISON_

Was there that much emotion attached to it? Why had it been a memory key if it was just -

_Because Maddison almost died. And I -_

_I killed someone._

He was sure of it.

_Of my own free will? Why?_

_Because he attacked us. The man with the shredded face._

_"It doesn't have to be a good memory, just a strong one. Something you can use to orient yourself in your own head and not lose your fucking mind."_

Juliet had told him that.

She was right. The keys worked. If he could remember the rest, maybe he could patch together his broken mind.

Moody pulled his head out of the pensieve. Aaron tried to read his face.

_Shock? Anger? How far has he gotten?_

"You killed her."

_Heartbreak._

Aaron didn't say anything. He couldn't. He still remembered breaking her neck, and it made him sick.

"I would have done the same thing. I just thought," Moody started. He turned away from Aaron, pulled out his flask, and drank. "I hoped that she-"

"It was quick," Aaron promised him.

"What was that? I've never seen anything like it. What it did to her-" Moody took another drink and looked at Aaron - at his right side. "Tell me what I saw isn't why you splinched off your damn-"

"It was," Aaron said, looking down. "Doing this to myself was the only way I could get out without having them follow me or try to force me to come back."

Moody walked across the room. He moved the chain securing Aaron's iron shackle to a lower ring to stop his arm from pulling on his shoulder. 

The slack in his restraints let Aaron reach for his side. He pulled back his shirt to see what it looked like. It looked – _like I mutilated my damn body_.

Moody handed him the flask. Aaron took a long drink.

Moody said, “We are going to kill that bastard for what he did.”

He pulled a vial out of his coat and held it out to Aaron. "I should have left this with you before I started on your memories."

Aaron passed the flask back to Moody and took the vial. He removed the cork with his teeth, spit it on the floor, and upended the pain management potion.

He swallowed and shook his head. "No, you were still trying to break me."

"Aaron-"

"You had to make damn sure, right?"

Moody watched him.

"You still do," Aaron said. "You don't trust me yet, and for good reason."

"It's not because-"

"I know. It's all the rest."

Aaron set the vial on the floor. "I don't blame you. Even I don't know what all I did."

Moody left the flask next to Aaron and walked back to the pensieve. He looked tired. His hair had thinned and his face was worn in a way it hadn’t been three years ago.

Aaron said, "Moody?"

The old Auror looked back at him. Aaron had spent a lot of time wondering if he would ever see the man again.

"You always did more than enough for me," Aaron told him.

Moody stuck his head back in the bowl.


	83. Shades of Grey

**March 1990**

The enchantments set at The Ministry of Magic detected the facial features of Madelyn Bulstrode as soon as Aaron stepped out of a fireplace in the arrivals lobby. Alarms sounded while he struggled with the dead weight of the killer's unconscious body. For a woman who had to be in her late nineties and appeared frail, Bulstrode was heavy, and Aaron was spent.

A late-night security agent ran up to him with his wand raised.

"You! Don't move!"

Aaron had already stopped. He bent down and laid Bulstrode on the marble tile floor.

The agent looked at him, then at the limp woman. "Merlin's beard. Is that-"

"Madelyn Bulstrode. One of the muggle-born killers."

Bulstrode's face was flashing on a wanted poster not fifteen feet from where they stood.

The agent stuck his wand in Aaron's face. "What are you doing with her?"

"She attacked me and my friend."

"What's your name?"

"Aaron Stone. I'm working with the Aurors; Alastor Moody and Juliet Walker."

"Alastor Moody is retired."

_This fuck's useless._

"Look, can you just restrain her before she wakes up, and contact Alastor Moody or someone in The Department of Magical Law Enforcement?"

Two more security agents walked up to them. Now Aaron had three wands in his face. He looked down at Bulstrode and wondered how long it would be until Maddison's last _Stupefy_ blast wore off. 

"They'll want you for questioning."

"I know,” Aaron said. It hurt to talk. “I'm not going anywhere."

The agents knelt over Bulstrode, took off her scarf, and pulled on her arms. They decided it was, in fact, the old woman from the posters and restrained her with iron shackles.

"She's stronger than she looks," Aaron warned them. "She was using some type of muscle augmentation charm."

One of the agents used a levitation spell to lift Bulstrode into the air.

The first agent looked back at Aaron. "Come with me."

Aaron followed him through the lobby while the other two agents escorted Bulstrode to what Aaron hoped was a sturdy holding cell. The agent led him down the familiar stone steps to the second floor. Wards flickered and adjusted to let them pass. It was late and no one was there. The hallways, cubicles, and offices were deserted.

The agent looked at Aaron like he was wondering if he should put the dark-haired, bleeding kid in a holding cell, too. Aaron couldn't blame him. His arrival was suspicious and it wasn't like he had proof that he was working for The Ministry.

"The empty room two doors from Madam Bones' office has one-way enchantments that will secure me once I'm inside," Aaron said. They didn't technically work on him, but the agent looked out of his element and Aaron didn't want to end up in a cell next to Bulstrode tonight on top of everything else. "You can leave me in there until someone shows up, or watch me. Your call. I'm not leaving until I talk to an Auror."

Aaron walked to the room with the agent following behind him, opened the door, and stepped through, making sure the agent stayed in the hallway. The agent raised his wand and tested the wards.

When he was satisfied, he said, "I'll have to send an owl to Madam Bones. It's late though. I can't guarantee-"

Aaron leaned against the back wall of the small room. "No, send an owl to Alastor Moody. He's here in London. I'm not sharing information with anyone except Moody or Walker."

The agent glared at him, checked the wards again, and shut the door.

Aaron slid down the wall and sat on the floor. He looked at his watch. It was after midnight. This had been the longest day.

The left side of his face felt like it was twice the size it usually was. He tongued at his swollen cheek, took out his wand, and pointed it back at his face.

" _Episkey._ "

Nothing happened.

_Why should it._

He should have asked Maddison to help him on the bus, but he hadn't wanted to ask her for any favors. Sure, he was glad she wasn't dead - he couldn't stop himself from giving a toss about her - but he didn't want her sucking on his lip or anything else anytime soon, and she sure as fuck didn't want anything to do with him anymore. 

When they had gotten on the Knight Bus, Maddison had looked at Stan Shunpike and said, "Hogwarts first."

"You should come to The Ministry with me," Aaron said. "You can tell them what happened to you."

"What happened to _us_. You tell them."

"So, what, you're going to be selfish about this, too? Not going to go out of your way to share details that could stop other people from dying?"

"What details do I have that you don't? You're the Auror in training, apparently."

On the floor of the bus, Bulstrode opened her eyes. Maddison hit her with _Stupefy_ and then used her shirt sleeve to wipe blood off the single slash of an _M_ that marred her own forehead.

_It was close. It was closer than either of us want to admit._

_And it was my fault. I never should have jumped her out of Hogwarts when I felt like shit._

Aaron stood in the aisle next to her, holding onto the bar above his head for support as the Knight Bus took off with a lurch. Fuck, he hated moving vehicles.

"If you feel like you need to talk about what happened-"

"Not to you I don’t. This wasn't my first time being attacked and thinking I would die, Aaron. It seems to be a normal occurrence in this wonderful magical world."

Aaron felt sick from the sudden, weaving motion of the Knight Bus. "I don't want you to-"

"I'm no worse now than you are after what Black did. And I'm no worse than I was when I pulled Peter out of the mud on the train. You weren't there for that, so don't worry about being around for the aftermath of this either. We both need to move on."

They hadn't said anything else to each other. Aaron had thrown up twice.

The door to the enchanted room opened. 

Moody looked inside. "What happened?"

Aaron looked up at him from the floor. "My friend and I were attacked in Glasgow."

"I saw Bulstrode before I came up here. Good work."

Moody waved his wand and removed the wards on the room. Aaron stood up.

"Did you bite through your mouth?” Moody reached for his face and Aaron pulled away. "Let me see it, Aaron."

Aaron groaned and let him. He winced when Moody touched his jaw.

"You bit through your tongue, too. Come on."

Aaron followed Moody to the infirmary. Moody ignited the overhead surgical lamp and pointed his wand at Aaron's face. Warmth spread through his flesh as it healed. 

"Now, what happened in Glasgow?"

Aaron told Moody everything – Bulstrode following them on the street, the convenience store, and how he had shredded Black's skin in the stairwell – while Moody used the bandaging charm on his lacerated right shoulder and back. Aaron hadn't realized how torn up he was.

"Where is Black now? Did he run?"

Aaron said, "He's dead."

Moody stopped.

"I killed him," Aaron said.

"If you killed him, where's his body?"

It took Aaron a minute to say, "In pieces."

"What did you do?"

"He was going to kill me, Moody. And Bulstrode had my friend. I couldn't jump anywhere, I was too exhausted, and he used the Cruciatus Curse on me. I just wanted it to stop, and _Stupefy_ wasn't doing anything because I'm still shit at actual magic, and Black dodged everything I sent at him. I didn't think anything would happen when I thought _Confringo_ , but I must have meant it. Because it worked."

Moody reached into a cabinet and took out two vials – one to prevent infection and one for the pain. He handed both of them to Aaron.

"This is my fault. I relied too heavily on your ability to pull yourself through space and away from your problems. I'm going to teach you how to duel, and not any of that shit they teach you at Hogwarts, so next time you can defend yourself without a body count. We might have been able to get more information off Black if you had left him alive."

Aaron nodded. Saying it all out loud had made it real.

_I stopped Charlie from fighting Carrow, and then I went and killed someone._

His voice shook a little when he asked, "Are you going to try me?"

"Before the Wizengamot? For defending yourself against a mass murderer? No, Aaron. Drink the potions."

"I killed someone."

"It wasn’t premeditated murder. Do you know how many people I've killed? In self-defense, duels, or just plain doing this job?"

Aaron took the potions, one right after the other.

"Look," Moody said. "After the shock wears off, and you're not so angry and exhausted, what you feel won't have anything to do with Black. He was going to kill you. And your friend. Black and Bulstrode killed dozens of muggle-borns. He tortured you, Aaron. He deserved what you did. The Wizengamot would have executed him, or sentenced him to a short, miserable life in Azkaban. But you'll have to contend with the knowledge that you are capable of killing someone."

Moody watched him. "Your reaction – it's healthy. You _should_ feel bad about taking a life. Even the life of a killer. You're no sociopath. You're no dark wizard."

"Tell that to Dumbledore."

"Albus has lost his mind. There's a reason he's still sitting in Azkaban."

"What if he was right? What he said . . . what if I did inherit some dark magic I have no control over?"

"What you can do isn't dark magic. You aren't sacrificing people or animals every time you pull yourself through space. You are feeding off your own energy; we've proven that. You proved it again today. Time and space manipulation are aspects of our world that The Ministry would rather pretend didn't exist and avoid educating people about. The Ministry wants full control over the use of space and time magic - like portkeys and time turners - and for good reason. It's powerful, dangerous stuff that isn't easily defined in a textbook, or controlled. You know that. Don't let Albus Dumbledore get in your head."

"But if he's right and I'm-"

"Then what changes? Say he does know something about you, or your blood family - the people who abandoned you. What would you do differently?"

Aaron said, "Nothing."

"Then don't let him bait you. Where he is, he has a lot more to worry about than trying to manipulate someone into becoming the next Tom Riddle."

Moody blew out the surgical lamp and left the infirmary. Aaron followed him.

"Now, you said you couldn't jump?"

"I could just . . . not far. And not often."

"Are you sleeping?"

Aaron didn't respond.

"No, you're in classes all day and working with Juliet at night. I can see it in your eyes. I want to catch these bastards, too, but even Juliet took time off to hole up in her flat and cut herself off from a lot of this shit for a while."

"What if I can't manipulate space anymore? What if I'm losing it and I'm back at square one?"

"You're not losing it – you're depleted. I've kept a close eye on you. Your abilities aren't going away. If anything, they are getting stronger as you get used to them and grow. But now that you can push yourself farther without consequences, you end up at the brink of your physical limits. You used to just collapse, pass out, and make yourself sick."

Aaron said, "I still get sick."

"But when was the last time you passed out after a series of jumps? Your exhausted body is trying to find new ways to stop you from pushing yourself too far. So, take the hint. And a break."

Aaron didn't protest. Moody was right.

Moody walked to a cabinet, took out a jar of floo powder, and handed it to Aaron.

"Here, get yourself back to Hogwarts the way everyone else does. Then, rest and go see Pomfrey for more potions that will keep your back from getting infected, or get her to heal you up more. I don't want to see you again until I come collect you myself. Go be seventeen for a damn minute."


	84. Sober

**April 1990**

A violent storm tore through the North Sea, agitating the waters and sending them reeling into the unplottable island. The walls of Azkaban shook as sea spray shot into the darkness. Lighting and screams of anguish were constant.

_They have forgotten me._

_And left me to rot._

Albus Dumbledore sat on the floor of a stone-lined cell that wasn't long enough for him to lie down inside of. Long iron chains and tight shackles on his wrists and ankles secured him to the walls. He hadn't eaten in three days. No one had brought him food. He pulled the thin sheet they had left him with tighter around his emaciated body and covered his ears against the screams that sounded from a nearby cell, waiting for them to stop.

_Do you feel forgotten, too, Gellert? Abandoned to your fate at Nurmengard?_

Dumbledore had thought so often of Grindelwald during the past year.

_If only I could tell you how very sorry I am to see what both of our lives have become - how we sit in similar places, yet remain entirely alone._

More screams.

_It turns out that you were right. In my heart, I was no better than you; doing what I thought I had to for the greater good._

Dumbledore exhaled a mouthful of condensation as a deep chill spread toward his cell, coating the space between the door and its frame in hoar frost. He dropped the sheet, got to his feet, and positioned himself against the farthest wall, raising his hands between him and the impending despair.

The wooden, outer door of his cell opened. A dementor leered at him through the bared, inner door. Frost spread across Dumbledore's arms and forehead.

The creature fed off of him. For just a moment, he let it.

_Take what you will. Make me feel what others have felt at my destructive hands._

His face distorted into a scream without sound.

_Make me pay for what I have done._

He didn't think there was any happiness left for the dementor to take from him, but he was wrong. The wraith prodded his mind and went after a part of him he hadn't realized was still there. The memory hovered in his head before it was forced out of him; bled out through his consciousness.

_Gellert._

Gellert standing in a sun-filled house in the woods, leaning into Dumbledore, touching his lover's face with tender fingers, and kissing him.

Dumbledore screamed out, " _Expecto Patronum!_ "

A phoenix made of pure, white energy shot out from his hands and shoved the dementor into the wall across from his cell. The wraith screamed. The outer door slammed shut.

Dumbledore gasped and doubled over – shaking and sobbing against the stones.

_It wasn't supposed to be this way. We were supposed to change the world._

_We were supposed to fight for each other._

The dementor had taken the bright sunlight filtering through the windows of the house in the woods and the way Gellert felt pressed against him. Dumbledore was left with the sensation of touch - with knowing Gellert had cared for him when they were seventeen - before they had raised their wands and destroyed each other's lives.


	85. Wind-Burned

**May 1990**

It was after four o'clock in the morning when Charlie reached beneath his bed. He grabbed his broom and the satchel he had packed after dinner, pulled a sweater over his head, and took a scarf out of his trunk, moving slow so he wouldn't make noise and wake the rest of the Sixth and Seventh Years who shared the room. He didn't have to leave for another hour, but he kept waking up and going over the plan in his head. If he left now, he would have time to stop in Ballycastle for something to eat after he crossed the North Channel.

Aaron moved in his sleep on the bed next to Charlie, tangled in red sheets with an arm thrown over his face - he always slept that way. Charlie stopped and waited to see if he would wake up, but he didn't. He should have told Aaron what he was doing. He wouldn't be leaving for Ireland now if Aaron hadn't taken him to the Carrow house and helped him remove and catalog the dragon remains with Bennett and Mia. 

_I should wake him up. And take him with me._

But Aaron had still never flown on a broom, and Charlie didn't think he would go for riding with him while he dove through the air and shot over pockets of turbulence. Aaron was a lot of things, but he wasn't comfortable with flying or heights, not with his inexperience and vertigo.

_If he was, I wonder what would happen if he apparated us on a broom – could he do that? Say if we were flying at top speed and wanted to surprise the hell out of these sick dragon hunting fucks?_

He wasn't sure if it would work or how hard it would be for Aaron to control appariting both of them at the same time while traveling at a high speed with a magical object. Charlie didn't know what all was involved – he had botched his own apparition test twice now and he didn't think he would try again. He didn't want another five mile walk back to the castle, and he didn't want to lose any body parts. Still, if Aaron did the appariting - 

_Could we do it without breaking our necks?_

They should try it – but not tonight. Not until Aaron was comfortable in the air.

_But when will that be?_

Charlie wrapped the scarf around his neck and left the room.

_We don't have a lot of time left to live together like this._

Charlie walked down the stone steps, through the common room, and stepped through the portrait of the fat lady. The castle doors would all be locked and secured until sunrise, but he could get out through the owlery. He took a moving staircase to the fourth floor corridor and headed for the West Tower.

The floor of the owlery was covered with straw, feathers, and owl droppings. Most of the owls were asleep in their roosts, with their heads tucked against their bodies. Charlie stepped over regurgitated pieces of dead rodents, reached into his satchel, and took out his goggles and worn leather gloves. He pulled them on and walked to an open window.

Charlie stepped on the window sill and balanced nine stories above the ground, with his toes on the edge of the stone ledge. He pulled his broom under him and jumped out of the window.

Charlie let himself free fall for a few seconds before he pulled up and shot into the air. He flew between the turrets and watched reflected moonlight dart across the slate tiles and the distant lake. The Forbidden Forest stretched over the hills and covered thousands of acres to the north. At this height and speed, everything looked distant and small. Charlie circled the castle one more time and oriented himself, then he flew southwest and left Hogwarts behind. 

A dread that had nothing to do with where he was headed came over him, fueled by his flight around the castle and Aaron's steady breathing in the darkness of their dorm room – the familiar sound that had been there almost every time he had woken up in the middle of the night since he was eleven years old.

This was home. But not for much longer.

Charlie didn't know where he would end up after Hogwarts. The way his chosen profession – dragonology – worked, he could end up anywhere, and he likely wouldn't even stay in one place. Even if he worked for one of the sanctuaries, there were migration routes and flight paths to monitor and direct. The clans had to be allowed their territories and kept away from muggles. He would have to follow the dragons. Nothing would be like it was now, with Hogwarts and friends to come home to. Sure, there would be people like Bennett and Mia, but there would also be a lot more nights alone in a tent and the rain.

_I'll be fine. I like being alone._

Moonlight darted over the clouds ahead of him.

_Not always. Not forever._

It was forever that unnerved the shit out of him.

_What's the alternative? I don't want what everyone else does. I don't want what Dad and Mum have, and I know it._

_So, what do I want?_

The cold wind had turned his face numb and he shivered.

* * *

Charlie didn't stop in Ballycastle. He had lost his appetite somewhere along the way and realized he had forgotten to stuff a few Sickles in his satchel. He kept flying and soared over Belfast in the dark – over lights and buildings, cars and muggles, too high in the air – and moving through the clouds too fast – to be seen. 

He was almost to the coast when the sun rose over Ireland. The twilight ahead of him collided with the breaking daylight at his back, creating a surreal zone of illuminated darkness across the horizon. The clouds had broken – leaving him exposed. He avoided roads and towns and increased his speed, soaring toward the Cliffs of Moher.

When he arrived, he saw movement over the ocean and long brown hair swept back in the wind – _Mia._

He flew toward her. Mia saw him and sped in his direction. They met in the air above the edge of the cliffs and the ocean breaking hundreds of feet below.

"I'm so glad you're early," Mia said. "We have to head south right away. Bennett is already with the dragons."

They had planned on meeting at the cliffs and following the dragons south along the coast, protecting them in case the hunters set upon them before they were within range of the open hills and lakes of a secluded section of a national park.

Charlie flew besides Mia. "What happened?"

"The clans headed down the coast earlier than we thought they would. They will be in Killarney soon."

Killarney National Park was located along the very precise migration route of multiple clans of Hebridean Blacks that had the same markings and coloration of the young dragon that had been floating above the Carrow's trophy room. Hebridean Blacks rarely deviated from their flight paths by more than a quarter of a mile. It made them far too easy to track, locate, and hunt. Based on the skeletons and mutilated dragon carcasses Bennett and Mia had found in an area of the park kept hidden from muggles, hunters had used the area to attack the dragons. The ages of the remains had exhibited clear cycles – a hunting party preyed on the dragons in the same place at the same time every other month.

Mia reached into her satchel, took out something wrapped in cloth, and handed it to him. Charlie unwrapped a knife with a polished, white eight inch blade – dragon bone - and a sturdy handle.

"Sustainably sourced from my first harvest," Mia told him. "I was a few years younger than you at the time."

"I can't take this."

Mia smiled. "I have fifteen other ones. You can tear through anything with that, enchanted or not. There's not much that can stand up to dragon bone."

Charlie tucked the knife into his belt.

They stayed in the upper layers of the atmosphere and flew into the clouds when they could. The morning sun made Charlie hot. He pulled off his scarf and sweater and shoved them into his satchel.

"We're working on the rest of the remains," Mia told him. "We've almost matched one of the heads, we're just narrowing it down between three potential clans in Germany. When we do, we will let you know."

Charlie had contacted Bennett and Mia while he and Aaron were still at the Carrow house. When they arrived, the four of them had stood in the trophy room, appalled and horrified by everything they found. Mia kept wiping her eyes and holding her hand over her mouth. Bennett swore and flipped over the dragon hide covered furniture. Charlie thought he was accepting all of it, and coming to terms with what the Carrows had done, until he realized the floor throughout the trophy room and the surfacing on the balcony wasn't made of ceramic tiles – it was all cut dragon scales. He wanted to burn the whole house down, but they couldn't do that. They needed the evidence to stop more people like Emily and Marcus Carrow. They decided to remove everything – the heads on the walls, the griffins on the balcony, and the young Hebridean Black – and take it to Bennett and Mia's. They lived on forty acres of farmland with a barn large enough to keep the remains intact and organized.

Charlie and Mia hit turbulence and moved to a higher altitude where the air was smoother.

"How many hunters do you think there will be?"

Mia shook her head. "Anywhere between ten and fifteen based on the remains we found in the park. It depends on how much they want to pay and what kind of experience they want. And we'll have to contend with a few Sherpas – those will be the people to watch out for."

"Sherpas?"

"Guides. The real hunters. All these rich witches and wizards, sure, they kill the dragons and keep the trophies, but the Sherpas are the ones who track the migration routes, study the best ways to kill specific breeds of dragons, and show high paying clients how to ambush and slaughter them."

"If they want to kill a Hebridean Black, they'll have to go for the stomach," Charlie said. Hebridean Blacks were covered with hard, uneven scales, ridges of sharp cartilage along their backs, and spiked arrow-shaped tails. "We have to keep them from doing that."

Mia nodded. "Yes. And without killing them."

"They're going to try and kill us."

"I don't doubt it," Mia said. "But we're not here to execute anyone. If you can get in range, use a binding spell to tie them to their brooms and direct them toward the ground, or leave them suspended in the air. If we don't take them alive, we're no better than they are."

They flew through a layer of clouds. When they broke out, Charlie saw the dragons ahead of them, and Bennett soaring between the clans. There were three of them – two groups of four and a clan of three, keeping just enough distance between them to avoid encroaching on each other's space.

Charlie and Mia increased their speed and caught up to Bennett.

Mia flew up next to Bennett and matched his speed. She leaned over and kissed him. "No hunters yet?"

Bennett took Mia's hand, squeezed it, and let it go. "No, but Killarney is just ahead. If we estimated the day correctly, they will be on us soon."

As soon as they crossed into the park, the hunters came down on them out of the sky.

"I'll stay with the clan in front," Bennett yelled over the wind. "Charlie, take the group of three. Mia, if you can, take the other group of four. We can't herd them together – the females will go after each other and the hunters will use that to their advantage."

Charlie raced after his clan – an alpha female and her two offspring - and tried to get between them and the hunters, but they came after his dragons from two different directions. Some of their brooms had sling-shot nets like the ones the poachers in Argentina had used.

_Fuck_

Charlie raised his wand. One of the hunters came at him, swinging a mace in the air. Charlie charged him, but another hunter fired a flash of red at his head. Charlie dropped beneath the stunning spell, but the hunter with the mace hit him in the back – hard. Bone fractured and split apart. Charlie lost the air in his lungs and almost fell off his broom. He caught the end and dangled in the sky. He gasped, too stunned to see the hunter with the mace coming at his head again. The hunter swung at his skull -

\- and was engulfed in fire. The dragon who'd created the mouthful of flames roared and tore through the air a few feet to the left of Charlie. Charlie winced, pulled air into his lungs, and climbed back onto his broom. The charred remains of the hunter plummeted to the earth. It was hard to breathe; each intake went into his body in rasps. Beneath his skin, something sharp stabbed his side.

_Bastard broke my ribs._

Another dragon roared above him. Charlie looked up. One of the young dragons swung his tail at a hunter. The man dove beneath the dragon, took his spear, and tore a gash in the dragon's stomach. The dragon screamed.

Charlie charged the hunter, grabbed the man's broom, and pulled him straight down through the clouds, using the weight of his own body and broom as he dove into a free fall. the man swung his spear - covered with thick, black dragon blood - at Charlie, but the awkward angle of their plummet handicapped him. Charlie raised his wand, holding onto his broom with his legs. He hit the man with a binding spell and lashed him to his broom. The man struggled with his spear still clutched in his hand, falling out of the sky.

Charlie let the hunter plummet - he wanted this bastard to think he was going to die. 

When the man was twenty feet from impact, Charlie caught him in a levitation charm. He shoved the man to the ground. The hunter - still bound to the handle of his broom - hit the overgrown grass and rolled. 

Charlie jumped off his broom and stood over the man with his wand raised.

"Did you think no one was paying attention? That no one would miss a few dragons, you sick fuck?"

Charlie hit the man with _Stupefy_ and got back on his broom, rushing up into the clouds where fire and screams collided. The dragons were defending themselves.

A hunter ahead of him released a sling-shot net. It wrapped around one of the young dragons, crippling it. The dragon fell out of the sky. Charlie dove after it. 

Charlie grabbed the net, still fighting to catch his own breath. He took the knife Mia had given him and cut into the strands. The ground came closer. He looked for the lead line, found it near the dragon's head, and tore through it, cutting inches from the creature's purple eyes.

The dragon screamed and soared free. Charlie coughed blood into his palm.

He looked for the hunter with the sling-shot net, but he didn't see her anymore. He didn't see Bennett or Mia, either.

Charlie picked up speed and flew above the clouds. The dragon with the gashed stomach was still in the air. He opened his mouth and released an explosion of orange flames laced with black smoke, incinerating the sling-shot hunter.

_Fucking yes. Get them!_

Charlie saw the other two clans; he hadn't been looking high enough. They were above him. Charlie dodged dragon fire and looked for Bennett and Mia. 

_Was that all of them? Where are the rest of the hunters?_

Mia plummeted through the air in front of him, dragging a witch lashed to her broom.

_Good. How many are left?_

Charlie saw a hunter on a broom to his left, but the man was already fleeing. Charlie chased him anyway.

Until a flash of green light ignited the sky. Charlie looked up, where the killing curse had come from. A body fell out of the sky.

It was Bennett.

_NO_

Charlie cut through the sky and plunged after Bennett's falling body. He matched the speed of the young man's lifeless form and pulled him onto his broom. 

Charlie rushed to an open meadow, landed, and laid Bennett on the ground. He leaned over his body and clutched his shoulders. He touched Bennett's neck, trying to find a pulse.

_The curse might have missed him, what if they just hit him with -_

But, no. Bennett was dead.

Mia left her bound witch on the ground and ran across the meadow – screaming at the sight of Bennett's limp body.


	86. Eulogy

**May 1990**

A steady, warm breeze drifted across the hillside overlooking the farm, bending the tall grass and creating air currents for a flock – _a murder_ – of soaring crows. It had rained the night before and the ground was saturated. The small crowd avoided the worst of the mud as they walked up the hill, carrying branches cut from the elm tree in front of the house a hundred yards to the west.

Charlie walked alone at the back of the group, behind Bennett's muggle parents; his sister and brother; an aunt and an uncle; and friends who had known Bennett since he was four years old. He followed Mia's muggle sister, her cousins, and people who had stood with Bennett and Mia on their wedding day. These people – these muggles – were close to Mia. They had been close to Bennett. And they had all been lied to. Mia and Bennett's parents were the only muggles present who knew the truth of how Bennett had died. They were the only ones who knew Bennett had been a wizard. Mia had to tell the rest of them that Bennett had a heart condition; she told them she found him alone, on the ground, in one of their barley fields. They would never know Bennett had died flying across the sky, standing between a clan of dragons and death.

Charlie heard Mia sobbing before he got to the top of the hill. She leaned over the pyre where Bennett's body lay. Her mother held her. Two torches were embedded in the ground, one on either side of the pile.

_"Losing someone takes a part out of you, Charlie. The pain sits in your mind and reminds you it's there every time you think you're past it."_

The crowd gathered around the pyre. Charlie stood at the back with a branch clutched in his hand. His still-healing ribs ached. A man with a scar across his face watched Charlie from the other side of the hill. It made him uncomfortable, and he moved to stand behind three of Bennett's friends.

_"I want to tell you this is the last time you will see death or lose someone you care about, but you're a wizard, and our lives are filled with struggle and loss."_

The flock of crows circled the hill. A pair of them landed between Bennett's siblings and the pyre. Mia's youngest cousin threw a rock at them. The birds cried and scattered.

Mia's mum spoke into her ear and Mia nodded. She leaned over and kissed Bennett's cold forehead for the last time. With her mum holding her, she laid the first branch on top of the pyre.

Charlie watched the people around him walk forward to say goodbye to Bennett, moving in groups. They leaned over his body, touched his lifeless chest, and added their branches to the stack. Some were quiet, others cried, leaned against each other, and held each other. 

_They'll never know who Bennett really was; what he could do. They'll never know he died saving dragons. They all think he just collapsed in a fucking field._

Bennett's mother and father walked forward. His mother had to hand her branch to her husband. She couldn't look at her son's corpse again.

Charlie felt sick, remembering the dead weight of Bennett's body as he caught it in the air and carried it to the ground; that minute where he thought Bennett might still be alive. He didn't know if he could step forward in front of these people alone; if he could say goodbye to Bennett without losing whatever was holding him together. 

Charlie heard someone behind him. Before he could turn around, Bill placed a hand on his shoulder.

Charlie felt numb. "What are you doing here?"

"Did you really think we'd let you do this alone?"

Charlie turned around. Tonks, Eni, and Aaron stood at the edge of the hill.

_They all came. To help me through this._

The man with the scared face left his branch on top of the pyre and hugged Mia. 

Charlie walked forward with his brother.

He looked down at Bennett, covered in elm branches. His face was the only part of him that was still visible and – with closed eyes and pale lips – it didn't even look like him. But seeing what had once been his friend's face still made Charlie's breath catch in his throat. Bill kept his hand on his brother's shoulder.

Charlie placed his branch on the pyre, looked at Bennett one more time, and followed his brother back to the edge of the crowd. Tonks, Eni, and Aaron moved to stand on either side of him.

Mia wiped her eyes and faced the crowd of people she loved – people Bennett had loved. "I won't be able to get through this without crying, but it wouldn't be right if I didn't speak for Bennett today. He would have hated to see us all so damn upset over him like this."

Mia shook her head and bit her lip, then continued. "Bennett cared about all of you. It means everything that you're here. Bennett worked hard and gave so much of himself for the things and people that meant the most to him. He was my husband, my best friend, and I'm not sure I'm ever going to be alright without him. I don't think any of us will be, not for a long time. These last few days, I've woken up wanting nothing more than for losing Bennett to be a bad dream. I've waited for him to come back through the front door and make me read one of his stupid sports articles, or tell me we have to go to another quiddit - football match. You all know how I feel about sports. But he won't, and I'll spend the rest of my life wishing he would drag me back to the pitch."

Mia nodded at Bennett's father. He joined her. Each of them grabbed one of the torches.

"I'll end with one of Bennett's favorite quotes from Charles Bukowski – _What matters most is how well you walk through fire_."

Charlie recognized the words. He had seen them carved into Bennett's broom.

Mia and Bennett's father took their torches, and ignited the pyre. Mia cried, and Bennett's father took the torches, threw them on the fire, and held her.

Charlie watched Bennett's body burn with Bill, Aaron, Eni, and Tonks leaning against him. Eni took his hand in hers and squeezed it tight.

When the pyre was gone, Mia's family walked her down the hill. Charlie left Bill and his friends and walked up to Mia. He hugged her. She spoke so only he could hear her. "Now, more than ever, we have to stop them. He would have wanted us to keep going."

He held her. "Tell me when you're ready, and I will be there."

Mia nodded against him, pulled away, and walked down the hill with her mum and Bennett's parents. Charlie watched them, until the man with the scared face stood next to him.

"Charles Weasley?"

"It's just Charlie."

"Bennett told me a lot about you, so did Mia."

"I'm sorry," Charlie said, "who are you?"

"Edison Abbott. I oversee a dragon sanctuary in Romania. Bennett and Mia used to work with me, before they started conducting their own research."

Edison handed Charlie a folded piece of parchment. "Now isn't the time, but, if you ever want a job, contact me. Bennett said he's never seen anyone as good with dragons – and as fast on a broom – as you are. We could use you."

Charlie tucked the parchment into his pocket. "I'll keep you in mind."

Edison Abbott clapped him on the back and walked down the hill, into the crowd of muggles.

Charlie turned back to Bill and his friends. They stood together at the edge of the hill, quiet and watching him.

Tonks hugged him as soon as he was in range. "Whatcha need, Charlie?"

"I don't know. To not be here anymore."

"Just tell me where you want to go," Aaron said.

"Not Hogwarts. Not The Burrow. I don't know. I'm alright. I want to go someplace where I can stop thinking about how unfair all of this is."

Bill said, "Well, we're not letting you isolate yourself in the woods for two months. That approach was shit."

Charlie shook his head and managed a smile. "No, no. I'm ready for something a lot less toxic. Can we go . . . I don't know . . . somewhere more muggle? I need a break from the magical world."

They all did.

Eni said, "I know a place."


	87. The Noble House of Black

**May 1972**

Number Twelve Grimmauld Place – four stories, an attic, and a cellar – brick, stone, and a wrought iron gate - was hidden in plain sight in the Islington borough of London. The unplottable residence shared its west and east exterior walls with identical homes, occupied by oblivious muggles. The muggles had long forgotten that there was another dwelling wedged between Number Thirteen and Number Eleven, and that the out-of-order addresses weren't the result of a numbering error. They had no memories of the family that had been driven from their home at the turn of the twentieth century, and left homeless and destitute, by the pure-blood witches and wizards of the house of Black.

Andromeda stood across the street with her wand clutched in her hand. Blood ran down her wrist.

She stepped off the curb in the streetlight, deciding not to bother with the wards on the front door and the windows. She walked to the cellar door. Her aunt never bothered to secure it. The modest entrance was for house elves and hired servants. No Black – apart from her kid cousin Sirius - would ever think to use it, or to remember often enough that it existed. 

Andromeda pulled the door open and climbed into the cellar. She ignited the end of her wand to see in the darkness and took the narrow staircase to the first floor.

She could still feel her mother inside of her head. The bitch – the coward – had come here to hide.

_Did you think you would be safe here, Mother?_

_Did you think this house would scare me away?_

Andromeda stepped into the hallway. She looked for her Aunt Walburga's house elf – Kreacher – and didn't see him.

The whispered voices of her aunt and mother came from the library.

Andromeda kicked the library door open and hit her aunt with _Petrificus Totalus_. Walburga's scream was trapped in her crippled vocal cords.

Andromeda hit her mother with a binding spell and pushed her against the far wall before her mother could raise her wand. The impact broke apart frames on the wall that held muggle art pieces, sending their contents and broken shards of glass to the floor. Druella struggled against the chords wrapped around her body and screamed.

Andromeda pushed with the force at the end of her wand until the wall fractured against her mother's shoulders, arms, and rib cage.

"I told you that if you ever interfered with my life – if you ever threatened me or my husband – that I would find you and end you."

"You disobedient child-"

Andromeda pulled back her sleeve and held her bleeding wrist in her mother's face.

"I felt you in my head, Mother. I heard your voice, telling me to kill myself. I had to watch myself take a letter opener off my hallway table and force it into my flesh, knowing my unborn child would die with me, and my husband would come home from work and find me where I had bled out on the floor."

Andromeda had struggled against her mother's Imperius Curse, kneeling on the wood floor and forcing herself to overpower the woman in her head. The thought of her husband, their child, and her limited resistance training from Defense Against the Dark Arts was all she had. Her mother should have chosen a time when she was weak, or when she had nothing to fight for. 

After Andromeda forced the voice out of her head, she laid exhausted on the floor, shaking and sobbing.

Druella glared at her second child. "I would rather kill you than have you taint our bloodline with that muggle-born's mud."

"You used an unforgiveable curse against your daughter."

"Do you think you're the first Black or Rosier to stray? To have a child with one of them? I do what is necessary to maintain the purity of all the bloodlines connected to our house, as my mother did before me."

Andromeda pressed her wand into her mother's throat.

"Do it, Andromeda. Kill your mother."

Andromeda took the letter opener out of her pocket. She cut her mother's palm open, then she sliced through her own. She pressed their hands together, and entwined her fingers with her mother's.

"Swear, Mother, that you will never come near me, my husband, or our child. Swear that you will never raise your hand, your wand, or an unforgiveable curse against us. Swear that what you did today was the last time I will ever feel you in my head."

Druella was silent.

"Swear it, Mother."

"I would rather see this house burned to the ground."

Andromeda raised her wand and sent flames erupting from its end. She pointed the wand in the direction of the Black family records – leather bound books and vials filled with the memories of her ancestors. "I am willing to accept those terms."

Her paralyzed aunt watched all of this from ten feet away – unable to scream or move.

Andromeda squeezed her mother's fingers. Their mingled blood ran down their arms.

"Swear it."

The flames danced off the end of Andromeda’s raised wand.

Druella spat, "I swear it."

"Repeat it. Seal the pact."

"I swear to never come near you, your husband, or your child. I swear to never raise anything against you. I swear you will never feel me inside your head again. And I swear, now and always, that I have no second daughter."

Andromeda left her mother bound, bleeding, and pinned against the wall. 

As she walked through the front hallway of Number 12 Grimmauld Place for the last time, she raised her wand, and burned her own face off the family tree.

Nymphadora Tonks was born eight months later.

Ten months after her disowned granddaughter came into the world, Druella Black used the Imperius Curse to do what she deemed necessary, and took another life. 

She almost took two.


	88. Everybody Wants to Rule the World

**May 1990**

_"Never again is what you swore the time before . . . "_

_"Never again is what you swore the time before . . . "_

_"Never again is what you swore the time before . . . "_

The repetitive last lines of the song drifted through the open windows of the crowded London flat. BBC Radio 1 played off the Sony cassette player sitting on the kitchen counter. The sound was turned up loud enough for the teenagers and twenty-somethings gathered in the living room, dining room, and on the fire escape to hear it.

_"That was Policy of Truth, the brand new single from Depeche Mode that literally dropped on Monday. You know it from their March album – Violator. If not, kindly turn off your radio and take yourself down to the store to buy a copy. It's that important."_

A nineteen year old boy walked into the kitchen with his hands full and added another six pack to the refrigerator. In the living room, an excited young woman shouted as her friend walked through the front door. While everyone was distracted by the arrival, a couple who had been drinking since before the sun went down fumbled their way down the hallway with their bodies and faces pressed against each other. They pulled each other into the first bedroom they came to and locked the door.

_"This next one – a request from Soho - needs no introduction. It's a few years old, but I'm going to play it anyway so everyone can get the 80's out of their systems already. It's a new decade, you nutters. But here, have your Tears for Fears."_

Eni mixed vodka into a glass of ice and soda water and stirred it with a butter knife. 

Lee walked back into the kitchen. "Right then, what were we talking about?"

"Liverpool," Eni said. "Did you appease the angry horde?"

Three of Lee's downstairs neighbors, and two of the neighbors on her hall, had banged on the front door and complained about the noise coming through their walls and ceilings. Lee had talked to them and followed them down the hallway with a few cans of beer to make up for the disturbance.

Lee leaned down and kissed Eni's forehead. "At least until midnight, then I said we'd kick everyone out."

"I suppose that'll do." She smiled. "You said you heard back from the University of Liverpool?"

Lee took a beer out of the fridge and looked back at Eni. "I got in."

"Lee! That's excellent, congratulations!"

"It means I can live with you in the flat above the bakery after you graduate. I can delay my acceptance another year and keep working in Hogsmeade in the meantime." Lee said. She took a bottle opener, removed the cap on her beer, and took a drink. "If you still want me to, anyway."

Eni hugged Lee, jostling the drinks in both of their hands. "It's all I want."

_" . . . we will find you acting on your best behavior, turn your back on mother nature . . . "_

"Eni, you should apply, too."

"I want to," Eni said. "I'll need to get my GED first. I'm so far behind, thanks to Hogwarts. I'll have to start studying so I can take the exam next year. Your mum did the right thing by making you stay in muggle school and learning," Eni eyed Lee's muggle friends standing on the other side of the kitchen, "the rest at home. Why don't places like Hogwarts teach maths and social studies?"

Lee pushed her crimped hair out of her face. "Because they don't want you going to college and coming back to this world. They want you to waste your life working at Borgin and Burkes."

Eni laughed and took a drink. "Well, thanks to them it is going to take me forever to get through uni. I'll be useless for a few years until I get through my generals."

"Not useless," Lee said. "If Death Eaters ever break in, it will be you saving us, Hogwarts girl."

Lee set her beer on the counter and reached for Eni's face. She hesitated.

_She's nervous. What's she got to be nervous about?_

"Eni," Lee said. _She IS nervous._ "Since we're going to be living together in almost a year, I have to make sure you know."

"Know what?"

"I don't want this – us – to just be something fun the two of us did for a little while to pass the time during school and uni. I want you for a lot longer than that. This isn't just making out at shows and dancing together for me anymore."

Eni set her drink next to Lee's and wrapped her arms around her girlfriend. "It was always more than that for me, too. I never just wanted you for a little while."

Lee hoped up and sat on the counter. Eni kissed her, and Lee wrapped her legs around Eni’s waist.

A young man with a shaved head walked into the kitchen. "Can you two maybe go into one of the bedrooms first?"

Lee flipped off her cousin. Eni didn't recognize Oliver without the Mohawk. He looked naked with it shaved off.

"Right, make an obscene gesture at the man who went back to Hogsmeade to grab this for you." Oliver handed Lee her Polaroid camera.

"Fine, fine, you deserve to be commended," Lee said, taking the camera and kissing Oliver on the cheek.

Oliver reached into the refrigerator. "I want you to remember that about an hour from now when I'm good and pissed."

* * *

_" . . . there's a room where the light won't find you, holding hands while the walls come tumbling down, when they do, I'll be right behind you . . . "_

"Wait a damn minute," Bill said. "You're telling me I could have saved my bloody wrists and fingers from cramping every night if we had one of these . . . these . . . "

"Typewriters," Aaron said.

" . . . if we had a typewriter like this at Hogwarts?"

"This one wouldn't work at Hogwarts," Aaron said, "since it runs off electricity. Not unless you found a way to modify it. But yes, typewriters would be an improvement."

"Well, fuck me," Bill said. "I wasted so much damn time writing everything out with a quill and ink like a bloody savage. Don't tell my dad I admitted it, but maybe he's been onto something all of these years. Damn muggles and their innovations."

"They can keep their typewriters," Charlie said, "and pry my broom out of my cold, dead hands."

Charlie looked better, Aaron thought, as their eyes met for a second. He looked on the verge of smiling. Bringing him here had been a good idea.

_Then why do I feel so out of sorts?_

Lee, Eni, and Oliver came out of the kitchen. 

Lee walked up to Bill, Charlie, and Aaron. "Hey, you lot, take a picture with Eni and me. Where's Tonks?"

Lee handed her camera to Oliver and looked around the living room. Tonks was talking to one of Lee’s muggle friends in the corner, waving her arms through the air in some excited conversation. Lee got her attention and Tonks jumped between Bill and Charlie. Eni pulled Aaron between her and Lee. Her girlfriend and Aaron had to duck so they didn't block Tonks and Charlie. Oliver took a picture, shook it, and looked at it.

"Stop moving! These aren't magic pictures. Your faces are blurred." He raised the camera. "Here, try again." He took another picture. And another one, setting each developing Polaroid on an end table.

Eni and Lee took the pictures, shook them, and made sure everyone got one.

One of the Polaroids would end up tucked between the worn pages of _1984_ ; at the bottom of a cardboard box left untouched in the corner of Charlie's childhood room for almost two years.

Eni and Lee ran back into the kitchen, pulling Tonks with them.

Bill looked at Charlie. "I forgot to ask. Who was that man at the funeral? The one with the face torn to ribbons?"

"He runs the dragon sanctuary in Romania."

Aaron asked, "Was he recruiting you?"

Charlie nodded. "He pretty much offered me a job."

"That's brilliant," Bill said. "Are you going to take him up on it?"

Charlie shrugged. "They do really good work out there. Bennett and Mia used to talk about it all the time. There's a sanctuary here in Britain, but it isn't anything like the one in Romania. They have so many more resources."

Bill said, "Don't try to play it off, you're excited."

Charlie smiled. "I am, yeah."

_" . . . so glad we've almost made it, so sad they had to fade it . . . "_

"Brilliant, mate, it's what you've always wanted," Aaron said, returning Charlie's contagious smile and suddenly too aware of how close they were standing.

_What is wrong with me?_

"It will be great to finally be out there all the time with dragons instead of this every once in a while shit."

Aaron took a pack of cigarettes out of his blazer and walked toward one of the three open windows at the far end of the living room. He needed some air.

Bill asked, "Want company?"

Aaron shook his head, stuck a cigarette between his lips, and stepped through an open window onto the fire escape.

_He’s going to leave._

_Well, of course he is, idiot. You see any dragons around here?_

Two of Lee's muggle friends stood on the fire escape. The young woman's mouth was open in a moan. Her partner had his hand down the front of her open denim shorts and his hand beneath her shirt.

_" . . . I can't stand this indecision, married with a lack of vision . . . "_

Aaron gabbed a rung and climbed the ladder. Lee's mother's flat was on the top floor. He stopped at the landing below the edge of the roof and lit the cigarette with his lighter. He leaned over the railing, glad he couldn't hear the couple beneath him over the noise of the city and the music coming from Lee's radio. He was high enough where they wouldn't be able to see him either, unless they felt like straining their necks. He exhaled smoke over London, watching the traffic and people walking ten stories beneath him.

_Fuck_

_Why do I care so much?_

_Stop thinking about Charlie._

Aaron pushed his hair out of his face. He took off his blazer and draped it over the railing, rolled up his sleeves, and loosened his tie, uncomfortable and hot.

_" . . . say that you'll never, never, never, need it . . . "_

_He's going to take that job in Romania next year and that will be the end of it. He's not going to care what I do. He's not going to come back, and he'll be happy._

_So, get over it. Let him be happy._

_Stop thinking about him and get over it._

Filch appeared on the ladder, wearing a long black dress.

Aaron jumped and swore.

Filch's face changed into Tonks, who laughed.

"Fucking Christ. You scared the shit out of me."

"That was my plan!"

Tonks leaned against the railing next to him. Aaron exhaled smoke in the opposite direction, laughing, coughing, and recovering from the shock.

"Can I try one?"

"A fag? If you want," Aaron said. He took the pack out of the pocket of his folded blazer and took a cigarette out for Tonks. "I have to warn you, it's a dirty muggle habit and I've unsuccessfully tried to quit three times."

Tonks took the cigarette. "How do I-"

"Here," Aaron said, lighting it for her, "now just inhale."

Tonks did and coughed. "It tastes like shit."

"I tried to tell you."

She laughed and shook her head.

"Your Filch form is dead on. All your forms are, really. You're brilliant with them now, even more than last year."

Tonks shrugged. "I don't know. I could be better. I kind of stopped shifting for a bit."

"I noticed your hair was brown a lot this year. Are you alright?"

He should have checked on her. He'd been so busy - what with all the Auror shit and the murders. 

Tonks coughed again. "I don't know. When everything came out about one of the killers being a metamorphmagus, I didn't want to be one anymore. Everyone was saying all of this shit – that we're deviants; that we're deceptive and immoral. It hurt a lot."

"Kayal Rowle was a deranged psychopath, not a reflection of who you are, or of who any metamorphmagus is."

"I try to tell myself that, but it doesn't matter. I'm just different enough to make everyone uncomfortable, myself included."

"That's shit they made you feel that way."

"But I am uncomfortable with it, Aaron. I'm loud and I joke around and it's all fine and fun, but I'm uncomfortable. I'm not one of those metamorphmagi who can just shift through forms at will and still feel like myself, no matter what body I'm in. I don't know if I just don't have enough experience or what. It's not me, and I'm torn between feeling like it should be, and feeling like I want to give up shifting. So, I change my face every so often, or I change my hair color, because that's fun, and it's easy."

"If you think changing forms like you do is easy, you should be an Auror."

Tonks elbowed him. "Come off it!"

"I know you've got the grades for it," Aaron said. Tonks was the only one in their year - besides Eni - who had outscored him on the O.W.L.s.

"So, I can read and write papers, Aaron. That's not as helpful as you think."

"You kick my arse every time we duel."

"Because you're shit at it!”

"Yes, I am, and I'm still training to be an Auror. I'm not wrong about how good you are. The concealment and disguise part of training would be a joke to you."

"I'm just not Auror material, Aaron."

"You're exactly what the Aurors need. Why do you think the muggle-born killings are still ongoing? Or why the train attack was never solved? There aren't enough Aurors. The old ones never do shit - they're all burned out from the war. I've never even seen them, apart from Alastor Moody. I'm not even sure they do anything besides sit on their arses and collect Galleons. The rest are overworked. I'm getting overworked just trying to keep up with them. They need help. They need people like you who give a shit and want to stop all of this."

"You're serious."

Aaron crushed out his cigarette. "Dead."

"Where would I even start?"

"You apply."

"I'll feel out of place with all those serious spooks."

"I'll be right there with you. I'll still have a full year to train after we graduate, maybe more based on what I've seen. It's a lot of work, but we can do it together. It's not like you'll have to go through it alone."

Tonks had gotten to the end of her cigarette and wasn’t sure what to do with it.

"Here, just smash it against the brick."

"Like this?"

Aaron smiled as she awkwardly rolled the filter against the wall. "Close enough."

Tonks laughed. "And you think I'm Auror material."

"You'd be brilliant at it."

Tonks headed for the ladder. "I'll think about it. Do you want a drink?"

"No, I'm alright. Still off alcohol. Be down in a minute."

Tonks climbed down the ladder and left Aaron alone.

Aaron stepped away from the railing. He leaned back against the brick wall and closed his eyes, listening to the traffic, music, distant voices, and barking dogs. For once, the sounds weren't segments coming from multiple places – it was all just noise from the dark city in front of him.

He opened his eyes when he heard someone on the ladder. He thought it was Tonks coming back, but Lee's cousin appeared instead.

"Eni says you're the one with the fags, now that she's quit."

Aaron handed Oliver the pack and his lighter. Oliver took one, lit it, and handed Aaron's stuff back to him. He leaned against the railing, blocking Aaron's view of the city.

"It's fine, you know."

"What is?"

"To be confused."

"Don't know what you mean."

Oliver looked back at him. "Yes, you do. You were drooling over your redheaded friend in the living room, who, by the way, is oblivious."

"No, I wasn't. I'm not a -"

"Faggot? Like me?"

"That's not what I was going to say." He wasn't, but the other word in his head wasn't much better.

"I don't care if you were or not. Do you really think you're not?"

"I'm not . . . like that."

"You're not . . . gay? You can say it. It won't bite you."

"I like women well enough. Had a girlfriend for a bit."

"It's fine to like both, you know. That is an option. You don't have to just be gay, you can be a whole mess of queer."

Aaron shook his head and leaned over the railing next to Oliver, avoiding his eyes.

"You remind me of how I was before I was honest with myself. I see it in your face. You're up here trying to tell yourself you're not feeling what you are, that you can suppress it and it will go away or some shit. That's not how any of this works."

Aaron kept his eyes on the city. "I . . . don't know what I feel, besides awkward and sick."

"That sounds about right," Oliver said, taking a long drag. "Your face lit up when he smiled, you know."

"'Course it did, he's my damn friend."

"Mmhmm."

"And he's happy."

"Right."

_Shit_

His life was complicated enough already. He didn't want this to be complicated, too. 

_And why did it have to be Charlie. Christ. He doesn't feel any of this shit._

_The fuck is wrong with me?_

The charm on Oliver's ears faded and they turned goblin – pointed and pierced, like his cousin's. His eyes were green like hers, too, Aaron realized.

"I've been hiding all my life," Oliver said, leaning closer. "You're a fucking wizard, too, you know what it's like. Your sexuality is just one more thing you get to decide whether or not, and how much, to show to people. If you learn to be honest with yourself, at least, it gets so much better. I promise."

Aaron didn't say anything. 

Oliver crushed out his cigarette. "Look, do you want to know for sure?"

"Know what?"

Oliver leaned forward and gently kissed Aaron. Before Aaron could react, Oliver pulled away. 

He watched Aaron's face. "All right? Feeling anything besides the desire to take a good swing at me?"

Fighting was the farthest thing from Aaron's mind. He decided to stop thinking. He kissed Oliver, who responded eagerly, parting Aaron's lips with his tongue.

Oliver loosened the rest of Aaron's tie and unbuttoned his shirt while Aaron reached for Oliver's shirt and tried to pull it over his head. Oliver ran his hands over Aaron's chest and stepped back long enough to pull off his own shirt – revealing two tattoos laced with symbols Aaron had never seen. Oliver tossed his shirt on the grated landing beneath them and wrapped his arms around Aaron.

Aaron - with his lips on Oliver's - felt Oliver run his fingers over the scar tissue on his stomach. The sensation made him want to pull away - he felt too exposed - but Oliver held him tight. Aaron told himself to relax and pressed against Oliver's warm chest, trying not to panic. He felt -

_like I'm too skinny or some shit and I have no idea what I'm doing_

_Am I supposed to tell him I'll see all the places he's been?_

_shit_

_this isn't like with Maddison it's -_

Oliver unbuttoned Aaron's pants and tugged his zipper down. Then he stuck his hand inside.

"Still ok?"

Aaron nodded.

"Are you sure? I don't want to keep at it if you're not-"

"No, please, don't stop."

"Good, 'cause I want you."

Aaron held onto the ladder with one hand _fuck that feels good_ and unbuttoned Oliver's jeans with the other. 

"Can you . . . say that again?"

Oliver smiled and kissed Aaron’s neck. “I want you.”

He pulled his own jeans down, and guided Aaron's hand in the dark.

_" . . . help me make the most of freedom and of pleasure, nothing ever lasts forever . . . "_

_" . . . everybody wants to rule the world . . . "_


	89. Midsummer Night's Dreams

**July 1990**

Madelyn Bulstrode's hands – gnarled and inflamed by rheumatoid arthritis – rested on the arms of a metal chair that floated above a white, tiled floor. Her restrained wrists and ankles burned. The Aurors had denied her the potions and charms she often used to lessen the swelling and the pain. It didn't matter. It wouldn't be long now. All that was left for her to do was wait and listen to the obstructed sound of corrosive liquid filling an unseen pool.

Juliet's initial excavation of Bulstrode's mind had revealed the ninety-seven year old woman killing thirteen muggle-borns, and attempting to kill a fourteenth – a seventeen year old girl fighting back inside a convenience store in Glasgow. Bulstrode's first kill had taken place in Cambridge in July of 1985, during the time before the Aurors had officially been allowed to investigate the killings occurring outside of the wizarding world. A motionless photograph of her victim was taken by the muggle authorities and acquired soon thereafter by Alastor Moody.

Bulstrode killed eight more muggle-borns between the fall of 1985 and the spring of 1988. She had opened the throats of one of the double homicide victims in Bristol on December 1, 1988, and taken three more lives in 1989, including attacking and killing a fourteen year old boy walking alone after leaving the Kenton Underground station.

When she had seen everything, Juliet extracted Bulstrode's memories the old fashioned way - by forcibly siphoning them out of the woman's head as coils of white silk wrapped around her wand. Juliet duplicated the memories, divided them into vials, and made sure every standing member of the Wizengamot reviewed them before Bulstrode's trial.

After the outrage that had resulted from Emily Carrow's trial in June, when the Wizengamot sentenced Carrow to life in Azkaban instead of executing her, Bulstrode's trial was a quick affair. Her memories spoke for themselves. The decision was made to execute Bulstrode on the hour, to the delight of the crowds of protestors who had stood in the arrivals lobby for three days, calling for retribution. When the announcement was made inside of the dungeon, Bulstrode twisted inside the iron cage, screaming that she would have killed thirteen more mudbloods. As she was escorted out of the room to the awaiting Death Cell, she strained against her iron chains and shackles.

"You're all mudblood loving cowards who will never do what needs to be done to restore order and purify our world," Bulstrode spat. "You send me to my death while the descendants of those who caused generations of witches and wizards to be chained, used, tortured, and killed – who showed us nothing but brutality – walk free. All of you, every goddamned one of you, should be burned at the stake."

The door to the Death Cell opened and Juliet walked inside. Bulstrode could already feel the young witch in her mind. She pushed against her restraints, despite the pain.

"Mudblood whore."

Juliet grabbed Bulstrode's head and pulled herself inside.

The edges of Bulstrode's mind were coated with the debris of advanced age. Her memories were intact, but corroded with the early stages of Alzheimer's, something the woman likely didn't even know she had. Juliet forced her way through. The unfortunate result was something Juliet called time slippage. Bulstrode's mind assaulted her with random, out-of-order fragments of memories. When it stopped, she found herself walking through a garden with the mud of aged recall sticking to her and making forward motion difficult. 

Through a cluster of white rose bushes, Juliet saw a seven year old Madelyn in the Victorian era, oblivious to her presence. The child Madelyn raised her hands and pulled water out of a fountain in controlled eddies, twisting it into shapes and making herself laugh.

Juliet watched her for a moment. _We all start in such similar ways – levitation, transfiguration, manipulation, or pure energy manifesting as broken glass, slammed doors, and items hurled off shelves._

_How did this child go from laughing in a garden to killing people by tearing open their necks?_

Juliet didn't stay around to find out. She had told the executioner she only needed fifteen minutes with Bulstrode, so she left the garden and bypassed the years and random memories until she was standing inside the circular stone room of the labyrinth.

Juliet watched Bulstrode raise her wand, collect blood off a floating knife, and siphon it into a vial of gold and black fluid. It was the same potion Juliet had found at the Rowle estate; the same potion Emily Carrow had smeared across her forehead before each of her kills. Madelyn was the one who made the potion. Juliet had watched Bulstrode work during previous excavations of the woman's mind, mixing carbon, snake bile, blatta pulvereus, ground dragon horn, nightshade, and one golden snidget into a cauldron. The bird had to be de-feathered alive and crushed into the mixture alongside its removed plumage with bare hands in order to obtain the distinct golden flecks. Juliet knew. She had re-created it inside of her flat, adding drops of her own dirty blood taken from her palm.

Juliet was sure the potion was the key to accessing the rest of the labyrinth and ambushing the remaining killers. She had taken her concoction, and the last of the potion from the Rowle estate, and smeared both of them across her face. Then, she had apparited herself back inside the circular stone room.

Nothing happened.

Juliet thought, _Tell me how the potion works._

Bulstrode responded. _It won't work for you, mudblood whore._

_Why?_

_Because the blood on your skin, and mixed with my potion, has to belong to a mudblood you killed yourself. Would you kill to get inside the labyrinth and past our wards?_

Juliet didn't respond. What kind of a question was that?

_No. Even if you did, what good would it do? You'd never find your way through the labyrinth. Why would you ever want to go inside?_

_Who controls the labyrinth? Who controls the mirror portals?_

_The same man who will kill you. Theshan Nott._

_WHERE IS HE?_

_Theshan Nott will kill you._

_WHERE IS HE?_

_Theshan Nott will twist your mind._

_Fuck this._

Juliet tore through Bulstrode's mind, pulling every piece of Theshan Nott from its crevices, and realizing, after now having gone through both Carrow and Bulstrode's minds, that her facial composite of Theshan Nott was worthless. Each woman had seen a different version of Theshan Nott, when he wasn't hiding behind hoods and masks. Theshan Nott was no metamorphmagus – she had seen enough to know that – but the man did utilize transfiguration and voice altering charms as often as possible. It was going to make him a pain in the arse to locate.

_And why shouldn't he? Why not use the charms and enchantments of this world to keep himself hidden? There's nothing to stop any of these killers from keeping their real faces disguised, short of a lack of magical talent and forethought._

_Theshan Nott will kill you,_ Bulstrode thought again.

Juliet made damn sure she had watched every memory Bulstrode had involving Theshan Nott and the rest of the killers, then she released her hold on Bulstrode's head. The woman laughed while Juliet raised her wand and extracted one final memory from the old witch's head, siphoning it into a vial.

"Theshan Nott will kill you. Theshan Nott will kill you."

Madelyn had turned the words into a sing song.

_Be damn glad I'm an Auror and I have to leave you with something pleasant, because God knows you don't deserve it._

"Theshan Nott will kill you. Theshan Nott will kill you. Theshan Nott will kill you."

Juliet left the Death Cell. She walked up to the executioner and handed him the vial. The man opened the cover on a cast iron pipe and poured the memory inside. The white coils traveled through the conduit until they emptied into the film coating the corrosive liquid beneath Madelyn Bulstrode's chair.

Juliet watched through one-way glass as the white, tiled floor disappeared. The corrosive liquid rose as the chair lowered. On the surface, the memory of seven year old Bulstrode manipulating water to her heart's content played out for its owner to watch – a calming memory to hypnotize the old witch while her body was destroyed by the liquid that lapped at the bottom of the chair.

Bulstrode smiled, watching herself up until the end – when the corrosive liquid ate its way through her vital organs.


	90. The Daily Prophet – 22 August, 1990

**_BAGNOLD ANNOUNCES RETIREMENT_ **

_At precisely two o'clock yesterday afternoon, Millicent Bagnold, who has held the position of Minister for Magic since 1980, announced her plans to retire this coming November. Bagnold's proclamation comes on the heels of Monday's statement released by The Department of Magical Law Enforcement, wherein Madam Amelia Bones confirmed that one-hundred and thirty muggle-borns have now been killed by members of what has come to be known as the "Death Cult", with twenty of the killings occurring within the past two months. Minister Bagnold stated that her decision to retire is not based on the spike in killings, however, and instead informed all present that it is nothing more than the culmination of her long-term plan to concede her position after a set period of time, and to allow the democratic process to again reign supreme._

_Despite the ongoing muggle-born murders, and the high levels of anti-muggle-born sentiment that have plagued the last six years of Bagnold's career, the Minister has presided over many critical events, and has seen great successes, during her tenure, including the capture and sentencing of countless Death Eaters, the end of the Wizarding War, and the death of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The void left in Bagnold's wake will be felt by all members of the wizarding world._

_The wizarding world will now enter the next phase of its political process – public democratic elections, wherein every member of the community aged seventeen and above may vote for the next Minister for Magic. Such a vote has not taken place since Bagnold was elected ten years ago. At this time, three candidates for the position will be included on the ballot. While the whereabouts of Albus Dumbledore remain unknown (Dumbledore has not been seen in public since the spring of 1987), the Grand Sorcerer remains a popular figure in the magical community, and there is hope that his inclusion as a candidate will draw him out of seclusion. The second candidate, Bartemius Crouch Senior, who served as the director of The Department of Magical Law Enforcement during the wizarding war, and prior to Adelaide Burke, is more controversial. Despite his experience serving on the Wizengamot, Crouch, it should be remembered, tried his own son and condemned him to life in Azkaban after the boy was confirmed to be a Death Eater. The last candidate, and the one this newspaper strongly supports, as do the majority of the members of the wizarding community, is Cornelius Fudge. Fudge has long held a position on the Wizengamot and is exceedingly familiar with the heated political atmosphere of the past six years. Additionally, Fudge's time spent overseeing the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes has put him in a good position to interface with the muggle world, and keep our way of life away from their prying eyes._

_The announcement of the candidates has already resulted in muggle-born outrage. After a relatively quiet month of little-to-no protests following the execution of Madelyn Bulstrode, muggle-borns again mobbed the arrivals lobby of The Ministry of Magic this morning, claiming that their demands are still not being taken into consideration or addressed. Such claims are not entirely unfounded, as the majority of Aurors, officials, and department heads at The Ministry are not muggle-born, and no muggle-born has ever sat on the Wizengamot._

_Several muggle-born protesters were interviewed this morning, and their statements have been included herein. The Daily Prophet would like to remind everyone that the following quotes do not constitute the opinions of this newspaper. The names of the protesters have not been included and all muggle expletives used by the protesters have been censored._

_The muggle-born protesters had this to say:_

_"The Ministry has never listened to our pleas, despite what has now been years of protesting and watching our people have their necks torn open on the streets. These so-called candidate "options" are an insult. Where is our representation? We don't want f***ing Dumbledore. We want our own candidate, and we are being denied that."_

_"Burn the mother f***ing Ministry to the ground."_

_"Where are our candidates? Where are our options? Where is our voice? As always, we are being silenced."_

_"Print the ***damn truth for once, you anti-muggle-born f***s."_

_"DESTROY THE F***ING TRACE. BURN THE ***DAMN REGISTRY LIST."_

_Despite these feelings of injustice, previous statements made by The Ministry indicate that they do not believe the wizarding world is ready for a muggle-born minister at this time; however, they have conceded that some consideration may be given for a muggle-born to sit on the Wizengamot at some time in the future, should a proper candidate come forward and if an open position were to become available. The Ministry would like to remind the community that the requirements to sit on the Wizengamot make the appointment of a muggle-born to the court of law challenging, as candidates must have a significant presence within the wizarding world and have connections with top magical political figures who can vouch for them._


	91. Rites of Passage

**August 1981**

The extensive remains of a castle lay buried beneath six hundred years of undergrowth and rock fall, but the stone keep was anything but abandoned. Enchantments laced with blood rendered the underground halls, towers, and chambers soundproof, intangible, and unplottable. In the fall of 1348, the Black Death had laid siege to the stronghold and wiped out the entire population in nine days. Words carved into the stone wall of a passageway by one of the infected – struggling to breathe with a swollen throat and failing organs – gave the fortress its current name.

_Here, nigh the ford, we sheltered from death – until death came for us._

Shouts echoed through the crowded great hall. Barty Crouch Junior leaned against the back wall, away from the tables and benches. His left forearm burned.

Two drunk wizards stood to his left, laughing. "Those sad Phoenix Order fucks in the catacombs - every damn one of them thinks they won't die in here."

"They think the war will be over soon, too."

More laughter.

Theshan Nott walked up to Crouch, holding a half-empty goblet of wine. "Well, let's see it."

Crouch rolled up his sleeve. Theshan grabbed Crouch's wrist and held his arm up to the light coming from the torches mounted on the wall above their heads. He stared at the fresh red lines of the brand.

"I told you not to go through with it."

"He invited me to," Crouch said. "And it's what I wanted."

Theshan shook his head and took a drink. "You're his now. He'll always know where you are, and he'll be able to use that thing to summon you."

Crouch pulled his arm away from Theshan.

"There's no way to remove it, you know," Theshan said.

"I don't want to remove it. It makes me his, and that is what I want."

"You're naïve."

"And you're a coward, not taking the Dark Mark yourself."

Theshan laughed. "Let me know how losing your autonomy works out for you. All he will ever do is manipulate you and use you for his own ends."

"If anyone hears you talk like that-"

"What, I'll be screaming in the catacombs? Do you want to chain me up yourself now that you're a part of the inner circle? Want to torture me until I prove my devotion? I don't need to maim my body in order to prove myself to anyone."

Crouch grabbed a goblet off a tray floating near them and took a drink. "He will never trust you."

"I don't need him to," Theshan said. "And, if he trusts you so much now, why aren't you with him tonight?"

"He'll summon me when I'm needed. Not before."

"You're brainwashed, Crouch. You sound like the fucking Lestrange clan."

"No. I sound like everyone who has woken up to the corruption of The Ministry and realized the Dark Lord is putting an end to all of it. This isn't just about killing muggle-borns and torturing muggles who get in the way, as much as you'd like that. He is reviving our world. He's teaching us everything The Ministry has kept under lock and key for centuries – arts we should have had access to long before now. We won't be denied anymore. We will be free to practice whatever types of magic we want."

Cheers erupted from the opposite end of the hall as the heavy oak doors were thrown open. Two chained and paralyzed Aurors – a witch and a wizard - floated through the doorway, controlled and levitated forwards by Bellatrix Lestrange. The crowds stepped back, making room for the procession. Bellatrix cackled and thrust her wand forward. The bodies of the incapacitated Aurors dropped onto a table, shattering dishes and glassware. 

Crouch and Theshan walked through the crowd until they stood ten feet from Bellatrix.

The witch and wizard were broken and bleeding, with their mouths frozen in screams of pain. Bellatrix jumped on the table and leaned over them.

"These Aurors tried to kill me," she laughed. "They thought they could drag me to Azkaban."

Bellatrix shoved the end of her wand into the torn skin on the witch's arm. "What do you think? Should we take them to the catacombs, or deal with them here and now?"

The hall erupted in shouts for blood.

Bellatrix raised her wand and lifted the Aurors into the air. Their blood ran down their backs, shoulders, and arms, and dripped onto the table.

A wizard in the crowd handed Bellatrix a knife. She took it and tore through the wizard's throat. She used her wand to siphon his blood into the air above the hall, arranging it in flowing streams. The rest of the hall raised their wands with Bellatrix and chanted. Flashes of dark energy collided with the blood and sent it through the air in ancient lines, circles, and patterns. The resulting ward expanded and tore its way out of the hall – through the walls and into the foundations – bolstering the protections on the fortress.

Bellatrix looked at the crowd while Nighford shook. "Would anyone else like to participate?"

The hall erupted again. Witches and wizards stepped forward, but Bellatrix pointed her wand at Crouch. "Why don't you prove that you're ready to get your hands dirty, young one?"

Crouch drained his goblet and climbed up on the table. Bellatrix handed him the knife.

The paralyzed witch was forced to look Crouch in the eye while he pulled the blade across her neck.


	92. Something Wicked This Way Comes

**September 1990**

Crouch heard the sounds of the front door closing and two locks sliding into place through the dense fog of his unutilized mind. He hadn't realized that his father finished eating, much less that the old man had grabbed his hat, coat, and left the house.

Crouch's body turned away from the corner and walked past the shuttered kitchen windows to the table. He reached for the remains of his father's breakfast – dirty utensils, an empty mug with coffee grounds stuck to the bottom, and a porcelain plate covered with toast crumbs and pieces of dried eggs – and carried them to the sink. He turned on the faucet and watched the hot water run until steam formed and rose into the air.

This was _leave me alone for once_ fine. And he was _stop just stop_ happy.

He was even _fuck you_ docile this morning.

Crouch's right hand grabbed the dish rag as his lips moved. "Are you done fighting me?"

_no_

_leave me alone_

"You've been quiet."

_try being made a prisoner in your own head for YEARS and see how you handle it_

"Your condition is your fault, not mine. It will end when you stop fighting me and go back to being who you were before all of this Death Eater nonsense."

_no_

_it will end when I'm dead_

_when you kill me_

A delay, then, "No."

_why won't you just kill me and end this_

"Because," his own voice told him, "you are my son."

_that isn't your reason_

_you won't kill me because of your GUILT_

_because I'm alive, she isn't, and you let it happen_

_you let your sick wife die in Azkaban in my place and you HATE yourself for it_

"That is not-"

_STOP BEING A COWARD AND KILL ME_

Crouch – through clouded eyes he couldn't control - saw the butter knife half-submerged in the sink.

_OR LET ME KILL MYSELF_

_LET ME TAKE THAT KNIFE AND END THIS NIGHTMARE_

"No. You are still my boy."

_I HAVEN'T BEEN YOUR BOY IN OVER A DECADE. YOUR BOY DIED YEARS BEFORE YOU SENT ME TO AZKABAN._

_NOW KILL ME_

Five minutes passed. The water kept running. Crouch's body didn't move.

_FINE. IGNORE ME YOU COWARD._

_IT'S ALL YOU'VE EVER DONE_

"Finish the dishes," his voice ordered, "and go to the attic."

_DO YOU STILL THINK THE ATTIC SCARES ME?_

Crouch watched himself wash the plate, mug, knife, and fork, and set them all on the dish rack next to the sink. 

He walked out of the kitchen, down the hallway, and up the staircase.

_YOU COWARD_

_YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT ME TO ROT IN AZKABAN_

There was no response from his own voice, or from the unwanted presence inside of his head.

Crouch reached the first floor landing, turned, and continued toward the attic. He was on the second flight of stairs when he felt his arm -

_NO_

_IT'S NOT POSSIBLE_

But he felt it all the same. His arm burned.

_don't focus on it_

_don't think about it_

He was on the third floor now. He walked down the hallway and opened the attic door.

_but I'm not imagining it_

_stop thinking about it or he'll notice and force his way back inside your head_

_. . . father?_

There was no response.

Crouch walked through the attic. He stood beneath the rafters, took the chains, and secured the rusted shackles over his wrists, all while the brand on his forearm singed his skin.

* * *

Barty Crouch Senior leaned against a lamppost three blocks from his house with his eyes closed, watching his son chain himself in-place through the perspective of the young man's own sight. He felt a vague sensation of radiating heat, but he couldn't determine where it was coming from at this level of control. Maybe he had kept his son's hands beneath the hot dish water for too long.

When the shackles were secure, Barty made his son stand motionless on the wooden attic floorboards. Then he shut down all of his son's motor functions apart from his breathing, heartbeat, and the cyclical motions of his eyelids. If his son didn't blink – Barty had learned early on – his eyes would dry out and his corneas would be damaged.

Controlling another person took concentrated effort. Barty had spent the last eight years connected to his son through the Imperius Curse. He was subject to the constraints of the unforgiveable spell as much as his son was a slave to his commands. It had taken Barty the better half of the first year to get a handle on managing, and transitioning between, the levels of control the curse allowed without encountering problems. 

At its most basic, the Imperius Curse controlled motor functions. Barty said jump, and told his son's body how high, like a puppet on strings. His son couldn't take a breath he didn't first allow him to take. At this initial level, his son was also susceptible to suggestions and influence. It made it easy for Barty to tell him to shower, shave, get dressed, prepare meals, and stand in a corner where no one could see him. His son didn't even have to be aware that he was doing as he was told; his body reacted appropriately regardless.

The problem with the introductory level of the Imperius Curse was that it was often ineffective. A witch or wizard who had taken even one year of Defense Against the Dark Arts, and who had decent control of their thoughts and magical abilities, could fight, and often break, the hold of the curse. Full integration of the higher levels of the curse was required to permanently trap someone inside their own body and mind, and casting an effective Imperius Curse that operated at the higher levels was difficult to achieve. It had taken Barty months to attempt it, even on his weakened son. But, once it was in-place, it kept a firm hold on the mind and ran as a background subroutine that could be accessed at will by the person who had cast the curse.

When effectively cast, the higher levels of the Imperius Curse also provided control of a person's senses, thoughts, and magical abilities. Advanced defensive training was the only means of fighting against this stage of the curse, and the average witch or wizard couldn't do much to stop it from taking over their mind. When he accessed the curse at this level, Barty experienced everything his son saw, heard, felt, tasted, and smelled, or, he could also chose to deprive him of the sensations. He could shut down his son's mind and stop his thoughts. Unfortunately, operating the curse in such a manner for too long damaged the victim, and sometimes left his son in a comatose state that was difficult to pull him out of. If Barty didn't want to cause permanent brain damage, he had to allow his son his thoughts.

When Barty had been the director of The Department of Magical Law Enforcement during the Wizarding War, he had proceeded over the trials of hundreds of witches and wizards who claimed to have been under the influence of the Imperius Curse. They said the curse was the only reason they had served Lord Voldemort, and why they had hunted, tortured, and killed people in his name. What most of the terrorists hadn't been aware of – perhaps a failure of the magical education system – was that living under the influence of the Imperius Curse for an extended period of time scarred the mind. Memories and thoughts, when examined, were often found to be damaged, distorted, or missing entirely. Extensive brain damage was often a good indicator of innocence; however, its absence made for a fast trip to Azkaban.

Barty left the lamppost and walked until he was sure no muggles were around, then he disapparated, and appeared inside the arrivals lobby atrium at The Ministry of Magic. He walked past posters declaring his candidacy for Minister for Magic, took a lift down to The Department of International Magical Cooperation, and walked into his dark office.

Before he could raise his wand and ignite the lamps on his desk, the door slammed behind him – trapping him inside. Barty grabbed the handle and pulled, but the door was immovable. He took out his wand and attempted a spell to wedge it open, but it did nothing.

Behind him, a wand ignited. A shadowed face said, "You won't be able to leave until I've gotten what I came here for."

The intruder leaned against the edge of his desk and glared at him. 

Barty asked, "Who are you?"

"You don't recognize me? How disappointing. I even made sure my features matched the posters hanging in the hallways."

Barty walked forward, ignited the end of his wand, and saw his intruder - Theshan Nott. Theshan grabbed Barty's wand and yanked it out of his hand. Barty yelled and pounded on the door.

"If you think I didn't soundproof your office when I jinxed your door, you're even more of a idiot than I thought."

Barty pushed his back against the door, trying to get as far away from Theshan as he could. "Are you here to kill me?"

"I don’t kill pure-bloods."

"How did you get inside The Ministry?"

"I appeared in the arrivals lobby twenty minutes ago."

"But we have spells and alarms set to-"

Theshan walked forward with his wand raised. "Yes, you lot cast spells to detect certain facial features in a world where some of us can use transfiguration to change aspects of our appearance at will, and where we can use charms to modify the pitch and tone of our voices. Not a foolproof anti-criminal system you have here, is it?"

"When I tell the Aurors you were here-"

"I will be long gone by the time you speak with the Aurors," Theshan said. "Now, let's talk about your son."

"My son died in Azkaban in 1982."

"That is what everyone believes, isn't it? I believed it, too, until very recently, when I was informed otherwise. How did you manage to keep him under the Imperius Curse for so long? I suppose all your time with The Department of Magical Law Enforcement taught you a thing or two about unforgivable curses and the dark arts."

"You won't be able to leave The Ministry without-"

"I'm going to walk right out of your office, head down the hallway, and leave this building whenever I feel like it," Theshan said, keeping his wand trained on Barty. "Your best chance of maintaining your knowledge of who you are, and of me not carving a letter into your forehead, is to release the Imperius Curse on your son."

"I can't-"

Theshan shoved his wand into Barty's throat and grabbed his shoulders. He shoved the man against the door. "I was hoping to leave you intact, but I also assumed you wouldn't want to give up your imprisoned child, so I am willing to force your hand." 

"I will never-"

"Oh, you will," Theshan said, raising his hand, "and it won't even take me very long to make you."

* * *

_it IS burning_

_not so loud he will hear you_

Crouch's eyes looked ahead and his arms were restrained out of his line of sight, but he was certain now.

_if it is burning, it means HE -_

_not so loud_

_it means HE IS ALIVE_

He heard a noise from behind him. A scratching sound. Nails on wood.

A second later, a rat scurried across the floor, stopped, and -

_is it watching me?_

\- watched him.

As the rat faced him, Crouch looked at the creature and realized the pattern of his own blinking eyes had changed. It was -

_sporadic_

_I can -_

He could make himself blink. 

Crouch's body – free of the Imperius Curse – collapsed. He was on the floor with his arms straining above his head, restrained by the shackles and chains. He gasped for air, remembering how to breathe on his own.

He opened his mouth to scream, and found he had forgotten how to use his tongue to form words. He released a guttural sound instead – pure elation, helplessness, and relief.

He didn't see the rat transform, all he knew was that he was on the floor, drooling, screaming, and shaking when Peter Pettigrew stood over him. He didn't care that the man was naked. Crouch grabbed him and leaned against him for support.

"He told us you were alive. He _showed_ me you were alive," Pettigrew said. "And he told us the time was now. You have been faithful."

Crouch coughed. His throat was dry. "Wh . . . where . . . is he?"

"He is in hiding. He was almost destroyed, as were we. I have heard him speak to me these past few years as his strength has grown. If you were not under the Imperius Curse, you may have been able to hear him, too."

Crouch managed, "Our master is alive?"

"He is."

Crouch shook. 

"You're weak," Pettigrew said. "I need to get you out of here. Where does your father keep the key to these shackles?"

He felt so pathetic and exhausted, but so elated. "In the cabinet by the door."

Pettigrew went to the cabinet, found the key, and released Crouch. 

Crouch's arms fell against his sides, heavy and foreign. He managed to pull back his left sleeve and reveal his burning, darkening brand.

Crouch sobbed when he saw it, then he started laughing. 

_DO YOU SEE ME NOW, FATHER? FUCKING LOOK AT ME NOW, YOU FUCKING COWARD._

There was no response.

There never would be again.

Crouch screamed and laughed.

Pettigrew took his arm, and they disapparated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I try not to deviate from the cannon too much, but Crouch breaking free of his father's Imperius Curse prior to 1994 is one of the deviations in this story. I hope that it is an acceptable one. I never bought that Crouch was kept hidden under an invisibility cloak for twelve years (how does one live that way?), and I have some questions for Barty Crouch Senior. Like, why keep your son beneath a cloak if you are already controlling his mind and body, and window shutters exist? Also, you are holding your Death Eater son hostage under a glorified bed sheet . . . and you then decide to let him go to the Quidditch World Cup in this condition because of his "good behavior"? So, what, he is just sitting in the stands beneath the invisibility cloak all behaving and such with your house elf babysitting him? Your VILOENT, DEATH EATER son who wants to kill you for what you've done to him, and who still has a hard on for the dark arts and Voldemort? The one you went through all of this trouble to make sure everyone thought was dead? Sure, just let him go out for a good time. Then, oh shit, he gets free long enough to cast the Dark Mark in the sky, frame the house elf, and start some shit at the World Cup, before being placed right back under the Imperius Curse, so Voldemort and Pettigrew have to go break him out of the your house in another month or so?
> 
> The whole thing has always felt . . . messy. And I couldn't leave it as-is.


	93. In the Dark

**October 1990**

A utility light – covered with a half-detached wire cage – flickered twenty feet from where Aaron woke up, disoriented and slouched against a concrete wall. The dark corridor he was in smelled like oil, mildew, and sewer, and he heard dripping water. 

Aaron tried to move, but his body didn't respond. His throat and mouth were cotton, his fingers were numb, and his arms and chest tingled with the lingering effects of paralysis.

He had been drugged.

_Think it through. Do NOT panic._

_Where was I? And where the fuck am I now?_

When he had control of his hands, Aaron reached for his _thank fuck_ wand and found a folded piece of parchment wrapped around the ebony. He pulled it off and held it up to the dim light.

_"You have one hour. Find the glass orb, and take it, before I incapacitate you."_

Aaron's head throbbed. 

_"The iron shackle on your ankle is enchanted. It won't come off. Don't waste time trying."_

_Shit_

_The Scotch._

It had been laced with something. He never should have drank with Moody.

Forty minutes later, Aaron felt his way down a pitch black tunnel. He had discovered a few other quirks in this wonderful scenario. Either Moody had fucked with his wand, and enchanted it along with the shackle, or Aaron had regressed again in terms of his magical ability. He hoped it was the first case. Whatever the reason, the _Lumos_ charm only worked in ten second increments before it flickered and died, and then he couldn't re-cast it until what seemed like some random amount of time had passed. The ignition charm didn't work at all, and his lighter wasn't in his pockets.

Moody wanted him lost in the dark.

A train passed through a different tunnel somewhere above Aaron and made the walls around him shake. He had to get out of here. He was running out of time, and the tunnel was full of hot, stagnant air. Sweat ran into his eyes and his hair stuck to his neck and forehead.

Another thirty or so feet forward, Aaron came to what felt like a metal grate. He thought _Lumos_ and nothing happened. He muttered the charm, flicked his wand, and the tunnel stayed dark. Aaron kept his wand raised, pointed it at the grate, and whispered enchantments to check for alarms, trip charms, or wards. There had been a trip charm on the last grate, but this one hadn't been touched.

Aaron ran his fingers along the edges of the grate, pulled it open, and moved it to the side. The air coming from inside felt cooler and smelled cleaner.

_Lumos_

This time, his wand ignited. Aaron leaned through the opening and saw a smaller, circular tunnel with stained concrete walls and stagnant water collected at the bottom, before the light at the end of his wand flickered and died. Aaron stepped inside. He moved the grate back into place and set his own alarm charm. Moody would find it before it was tripped, but it should slow the old man down.

The new tunnel was maybe five feet in diameter. Aaron walked forward hunched over, heading towards what he hoped was fresh air. He ran his hands along the rough surface of the concrete walls while the water around his feet got deeper.

_Where is this orb?_

Aaron wiped sweat off his face. He heard running water. The sound got louder as he followed the curve of the tunnel. He walked ahead until he got the sense that his tunnel was opening into -

Aaron thought _Lumos_ and his wand ignited.

He stood a few feet from an edge where the tunnel ended in a terminal – a junction of six pipes and tunnels configured to discharge into a vertical shaft that he couldn't see the bottom of. Water poured out from two large pipes beneath him, like waterfalls at varying heights. Above him – far above him – was an industrial fan covered in wire mesh that pulled air into the chasm.

_BANG_

The cast spell came from behind him. A flash of orange light flew at his head.

Aaron whipped his wand in fast loops and cast an impediment spell that manifested as blue arcs of energy. It collided with the incoming disorientation spell and cracked in the humid air. The impact pushed Aaron back into the standing water and towards the chasm. Two more flashes of light – bright red this time – came next. Aaron rolled against the side of the tunnel as the stunning spells shot past him. He raised his wand and sent his own _Stupefy_ back into the darkness. He had to lay flat on the bottom of the tunnel to avoid the next attack – a stream of white, hot energy. It hurled over him into the shaft and hit a wall, sending pieces of shattered concrete into the air.

The light from the spells showed him something else inside the chasm – there was a maintenance ladder of knurled rungs cast into the concrete. Aaron leaned around the edge of the tunnel and grabbed for them. He made sure he had his foot on one, too, before he swung out over the chasm and climbed up into the darkness. Two more cast spells exploded out of the tunnel.

Aaron reached hand over hand for the next rungs, feeling like he should have reached whatever was at the top by now. It just kept going until the next rung he reached for wasn't there. Aaron felt for a platform, or the wire mesh he had seen covering the fan at the top of the shaft, but nothing was there – just a solid wall of bare concrete. He felt an opening to his left – another tunnel – and swung inside.

_BANG BANG_

Two spells came at him from the dark tunnel. The first one singed his shoulder. The second one knocked him hard against the low, curved ceiling and pushed the air out of his lungs. Aaron gasped, choked, thought _Protego_ , and tore his wand in fast circles, sealing the tunnel with a shield.

_How did he get up here? Is Juliet in here, too, or something?_

_Or did that one-eyed bastard -_

Aaron sent a _Stupefy_ charm back at the chasm for light and looked inside. What the shit kind of mind fuck was Moody using? There was a ladder, yes, but it only went down from his tunnel, and there wasn't another tunnel on this wall that didn't have water pouring out of it. Moody had set some kind of illusion charm and Aaron had walked – _climbed –_ right into it. He had never gone anywhere. He had been stuck inside some kind of ladder loop, and had ended up stepping back into the same tunnel.

Moody's next spell sent Aaron's shield scraping against the tunnel until it wavered and disintegrated.

Aaron stood inches from the end of the tunnel and the open chasm. He needed more light. 

Aaron raised his wand over the chasm, rotated it in fast circles, pulled at the air, and tried to think of something . . . happy. He felt his watch against his wrist and thought of - milk bread and honey, Fang licking his hand, Maddison’s legs, and Charlie leaning against the wall next to him - his seventeenth birthday - and managed to get enough of the sensation to _Expecto Patronum_ call forth a radiating silver smoke guardian. The incorporeal form – he had never in his life managed to cast a patronus even vaguely resembling the shape of an animal - ignited the chasm. The disembodied vapor drifted down the shaft, revealing a forty foot drop and a dark pool of water. Aaron was hit with vertigo and took a step back into the tunnel, where another spell came at him. Aaron dropped against the concrete to avoid it. His patronus – with nothing to fight off – faded and died.

_Think. And get off the floor._

Aaron stood and raised his wand. He couldn't get back on Moody's enchanted funhouse ladder, he was almost out of time, and he had to get away from the man who could see through walls.

Another flash of light came at him.

Aaron jumped. And held his breath.

He fell through the darkness with the roar of cascading water around him. He hit the pool at the bottom of the chasm and plunged beneath the water.

Aaron surfaced in time to have another spell shot at his head. He aimed his wand up at the darkness, waved it fast, and cast a quick series _Confundo Confundo Confundo_ of confusion charms. He used the resulting light to look around, and saw a partially submerged, hinged gate. He swam to it and yanked it open. Aaron had to dive to fit through.

He surfaced on the other side – in a rectangular utility tunnel with working lights. There was a catwalk overhead and concrete ledges on either side of the deep drainage culvert he swam through. Aaron reached for a conduit and pulled himself out of the water. He stood on the concrete ledge. He still had to find the orb.

_Accio orb_

Nothing. It hadn't worked when he tried it thirty minutes ago, and it wasn't going to work now. The damn thing was probably resistant to spells.

_Oh_

_Fuck_

_Glass orb_

_I'm an idiot._

The "glass orb" was Moody's blue eye.

_How am I supposed to -_

A utility door opened above him and a spell shot at his head. Aaron didn't bother aiming at Moody – he fired _Confringo_ at the catwalk. The steel rods the platform hung from tore out of the concrete ceiling and the catwalk collapsed, sending Moody plunging beneath the water. Aaron ran down the wet ledge and cast the levitation charm in an attempt to entangle Moody. All he managed was to send pieces of the destroyed catwalk floating into the air, which he then had to dodge and direct with his wand as he looked for the old Auror.

Moody surfaced and pulled himself onto the ledge on the other side of the drainage channel.

Aaron tore at the air with his raised wand, sending stunning spells at his mentor at multiple angles. Moody cast a shield, pushed it through the air, and knocked Aaron onto his back. Aaron had to work fast to break the shield – before it crushed him. 

As soon as it fell, Aaron flung his wand in an arc and thought _Expelliarmus_.

Moody's wand tore out of his hand, but he grabbed it with his other hand, recovered, and sent pure arcs of energy over the channel at Aaron. The bolts broke the concrete wall and ledge apart. Aaron dived back into the water to get away from them.

Submerged, in the darkness, Aaron thought, _Accio Moody's blue eye._

_Accio any fucking magical thing to help me out a little here._

All he had was rushing water.

Aaron surfaced and raised his wand, pulling on the water in the channel. He sent a torrent at Moody that assaulted him like driving rain. Aaron kept his wand raised, kept up the onslaught of water, and pulled himself onto the ledge, sweating, soaking wet, and straining to keep his hold on his enchantment. Moody stepped back, and, for a second, Aaron thought he had him. He ran at Moody.

And his entire body shut down – paralyzed and left hovering in the air.

His water torrent washed over the ledge, disintegrating. Moody walked up to Aaron, and took his wand out of his motionless hand.

"What did I tell you about getting this close to an armed opponent?"

Aaron couldn't respond – his vocal cords and mouth had been paralyzed along with the rest of him.

"If you can't jump through space, do not get this close to your enemy. _Petrificus Totalus_ , as you well know, is very effective at close range. It's why the muggle-born killers get so close to their victims. You know that, Aaron. If I wanted to, I could have killed you. You're going to be an Auror; you can't afford to pull this shit. Whoever you are fighting against is going to be sending more than stunning spells at your head."

Moody released the spell. Aaron caught himself against the concrete wall. 

Frustrated, filthy, and soaking wet, Aaron asked, "Did I do anything right?"

"The alarms you set slowed me down, and you can actually duel now after all our work this summer, which is something. When you combine dueling with your space manipulation, it will be very effective, I assure you. But you have to stay vigilant. Constantly. I don't want to watch someone kill you, do you understand?"

Aaron nodded.

Moody waved his wand and the shackle came off Aaron's ankle. "Now, get us out of here. We're beneath London, if the distant trains didn't give it away. We're not far from Littlebrook Power Station."

Moody handed Aaron his wand. "Don't look so disappointed, Aaron. You did well. If it makes you feel any better, no one has ever gotten my eye."


	94. Games of Chance

**November 1990**

Three decks of playing cards lifted off the circular wooden table in the back room of the Hog's Head Inn and shuffled themselves in the air, folding over each other and sliding back into place with rapid snaps. As soon as the cards were disordered, they fanned out at various angles, sorted themselves into six piles, and landed on the table. The face-down cards floated off the top of each stack, crossed over each other in the air, and arranged themselves until neat hands of nine sat in front of each player. Tonight's game was Sorcerer's Chance.

Hagrid passed the pipe back to Aleus and picked up his cards – a collection of aces, kings, and high numbers. He tried not to smile. Even after half of them vanished, it would be a damn good hand.

He smiled anyway, and drank from his stein. _I'd like to see any of this lot top what I've got here._

The short man sitting on his right – Hagrid hadn't caught his name yet – watched him while he sorted his cards. "Is it that good of a hand? Or are you just feeling lucky tonight, giant?"

"Oh, I'm just half giant."

The man didn't appear to believe him. "Whatever you are, why don't you start the betting, since you look so confident?"

Hagrid shrugged. "Might as well."

He tossed four Knuts on the table and rapped on the wood boards to let the decks know he was ready. One card from the top of each pile floated into his hand. Two more aces, a three, a seven, and two kings. And to think he wasn't going to come tonight.

Hagrid ended his turn and drank while the others matched his bet and took their new cards out of the air. When everyone had taken a turn, six random cards in each player's hand disintegrated, leaving them again with hands of nine. Hagrid lost the two kings, but fate left him with all of his aces.

It was the lock-in round now, and it was time to up the ante. Hagrid took his five aces and set them face-up on the table. He threw four more Knuts down next to them. Aleus locked in a pair of jacks, three twelves, and matched Hagrid's wager. Lara did the same after she laid down four queens. The first of the two old hags to Lara's left - _who invited these old biddies_ – laid down six kings, and placed a black glass vial on the table.

"We don't accept perfume as currency around here, Nana," the short man said.

"That's unfortunate," the old witch said, "because you could use some."

"I mean it, lady, pay up."

The second old witch laid down four jacks. "If anyone should pay up, it is you, young man, to match my . . . uh . . . sister's wager."

"I don't need to match whatever that ancient vial has in it. Your sister needs to put down some real money or go back to the care home."

The first witch said, "It is Elixir of Downfall, and I will do no such thing."

"What the hell is Elixir of Downfall?"

"Drink it and find out," the second old witch said, and tossed a scroll onto the table as her wager.

"You've got to be kidding me," the short man said. "I suppose that's a map to some great fortune?"

"No," the second old witch said, "it's something I made myself."

"Go back to the bloody care home, both of you."

"Hey, hey, none of that," Hagrid said. "These fine ladies played their hands and placed their bets, same as you and me."

"You call these bets? These . . . trinkets?"

"I assure you," said the first old witch, "Elixir of Downfall is no trinket. I would be wary of even jostling the vial."

"Show me some coin, Nana."

Lara grabbed the pipe from Aleus and took a few puffs. "Can we play the dragon fucking game already? The cards are getting impatient."

They were. They had started to un-shuffle themselves and dart around the table. 

Aleus raised his wand and corralled the cards. "Come on, Demitri, don't disrespect these lovely women. Bet what you've got, alright? Coins or not."

Hagrid nodded. "Them's the rules. You can bet whatever you have. Why, we've had nights in here where all I've had to put on the table was my own boots."

The short man laid down three tens. "What I have, eh? Fine, take this."

He reached into his coat and tossed a flickering badge on the table.

Lara looked at it. "What even is that?"

"A pass to the Cup. That'll get you into my private box."

Lara asked, "The _World_ Cup?"

"What the fuck other Cup is there?"

"That's useless," Lara said, "the Cup's over."

"Haven't you been reading _The Prophet_?"

"I haven't touched that boring rag since August," Lara said. "I'd be fine never reading it again."

"Well, the Cup isn't over. Scotland and Canada are still at it for the final."

"Can't be," Hagrid said. He was tired of Demitri's shit. Where in Merlin's arse did Aleus find this garden gnome? "The final was four days ago."

"No, the damn thing is _still_ on. I was there all week. I got tired of sitting on my arse waiting for someone to score, or find the rutting snitch. The bloody defenses are too well matched. Five players have been severely injured. The ones left on the pitch have all been allowed to use charms so they can stay awake on their brooms."

Hagrid swore to Sycorax he heard one of the old witches mutter _Wicked_ under her breath.

The cards took back to the air and floated in angry circles, threatening to disintegrate completely and end the game.

"Fine, fine, you can bet your Cup pass," Lara said, "let's just play before we end up like Scotland and Canada."

Hagrid reached into his pocket and tossed down a Sickle. _Let's see what they do with that; let's see if shorty here doesn't lose the rest of his shit._

Hagrid ended his turn.

And noticed that something was wrong with the first old witch's face. It was melting.

_Oh, for the love of griffin balls. Here goes the game._

Red strands of hair inched their way out of the old lady's head and took over her white locks. She didn't seem to notice.

Hagrid got the old witch's – _Fred's? George's?_ – attention by patting his head and clearing his throat. While effective, it made Aleus, Lara, and Demitri look his way.

"I must've had a few too many pulls on the pipe," Hagrid said, coughing.

The first old witch – _Fred? George?_ \- realized what was happening to her, reached into her pocket, and threw a handful of Exploding Snap cards on the table. 

The cards detonated. Chaos erupted.

Demitri stood up and flung his cards in the air. "You're all a bunch of cheaters!"

He grabbed for the Knuts on the table. Lara grabbed Demitri's hands and shoved him. "If you weren't such a dragon's arse, these poor women wouldn't have had to resort to explosives!"

The second old witch – who was still very much an old witch, unlike her sibling – grabbed the Cup pass. The half-redheaded boy, half-white haired old woman who was her accomplice, helped her hobble her frail body away from the table.

Aleus picked up the pipe and took a long puff. _Was it too much for me to think we could have one game that didn't end in someone losing their shit or getting jinxed?_

Demitri realized his pass was gone and ran out of the room, screaming for the old witches to stop.

Hagrid smiled and leaned back in his chair. And to think he wasn't going to come tonight.

* * *

George – who was mostly himself again, apart from the dress – and Fred – who hobbled along at the top speed his decrepit body allowed – climbed past the portrait of Ariana Dumbledore, and closed it behind them, just in time to avoid Demitri. Neither of the twins had bothered to see if Aberforth was behind the bar, or if the old wizard had seen them leave, but they heard him now, telling Demitri to stop yelling inside of, and stomping through, his Inn. The temporarily un-identical twins stood on the back side of the portrait with their hands over their mouths to stifle their laughter. 

The twins muttered _Lumos_ and ignited their wands, still laughing.

"Bloody brilliant," Fred said, as they walked down the dark tunnel away from the Hog's Head, "but next time, we make sure both batches of polyjuice haven't been sitting in our trunks for so long that they've gone off."

"And we should stop taking hairs from Aunt Muriel and Aunt Tessie. You still sound, and look, like Tessie, and it's bloody weird."

"How dare you, young man, this voice has been in our family for generations. By the way, what was in the vial?"

"Tap water. What was inside the scroll?"

"An outline of my left foot. Toes and all."

"So, you did make it yourself, how thoughtful."

Fred took out the badge and handed it to George. "At least we nicked this."

"So wicked," George said, turning the badge over and reading the inscription in the light cast by their wands. "It looks like the real thing, alright. You know what we have to do now."

"Leave for the Cup as soon as we walk back to the castle and grab our brooms?"

"Yes, that, but we also have to tell Charlie. He'd kill a First Year to watch the Cup live. We can't go without him."

"You're right. What fun would it be if he wasn't there? Let's see where he's at."

Fred pulled out the Marauder's Map and raised his wand. In his aunt's voice, he said, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

The twins scanned the map.

"Here's our studious brother," Fred said, "in the library on a Saturday night."

"Maybe the map has confused Charlie for Percy."

"No, Percy's back in bed. Probably still telling everyone he's got a headache."

"Wait. Is that . . . is that someone in bed with Percy?"

"Can't be."

"It is, look. Peter Pettigrew."

"Who's Peter Pettigrew?"

"I don't know," George said. "I don't even know the names of the people in our year."

"Well, whoever he is, what's Peter Pettigrew doing in bed with Percy?"

"We could go in there and ask them. I'm sure they wouldn't mind."

"Yes, you're right, that wouldn't be uncomfortable for any of us _at all_."

"At the very least, we should congratulate him in the morning," George said. "I didn't know he fancied anyone. Do you think Charlie has noticed him with this Peter Pettigrew chap?"

"Charlie would be the last person to notice anything like that going on. And we shouldn't betray Percy's trust, at least not until we have a good reason to use it against him."

"He's lucky we're such compassionate siblings, and that we have much better things to do tonight."

Before they arrived at the end of the passageway, and at the Room of Requirement, Fred and George stopped at a group of dissimilar-colored stones in the wall. Fred tapped the largest stone three times and the passageway opened into another tunnel. They followed it for a while until they came to the backside of a bookcase. 

Fred folded the map, tapped it with his wand, and whispered, "Mischief managed," before tucking it into his old lady dress.

George pushed the bookcase open, and they walked into the library, heading for the corner in the History section where they had seen their brother's name. They found Charlie at a table with Aaron, leaning over what looked like N.E.W.T.-level Potions homework. Both of the older boys looked absolutely miserable.

Charlie looked up first. "Merlin fucking King Arthur. Tell me you weren't in Hogsmeade again."

Aaron looked at Fred. "You two have got to stop-"

"Using hair samples from our aunts, we know. We discussed it on the walk back here."

"I was going to say stealing Trelawney's clothes," Aaron said, "but yeah, shit, that, too."

George handed the badge to Charlie.

"I'm not even going to ask how you got this," Charlie said, turning the badge over in his hand.

"We nicked it from a man at the Hog's Head after he lost at Sorcerer's Chance.”

Charlie shook his head. "Is it at least real?"

"It's so real that we're all leaving for the Cup as soon as you grab your broom," Fred said. He looked at Aaron. "You too, if you want to come. That badge will get us all into the match and setup in a private box."

"No shit? I take it back," Charlie said, "keep cross-dressing and running off to Hogsmeade unsupervised. It's working out brilliantly."

"Didn't the final start four days ago?" Aaron asked.

Charlie, Fred, and George said, "It's still going on!"

"Well, this I have to see," Aaron said. "Where is this never-ending Quidditch match taking place?"

"Somewhere in Scotland," Fred said. "They don't release the exact location because of all the worry over muggles finding us. Most people are told where it is when they buy their tickets and get there with port keys. Oh, damn, I hadn't thought of any of this."

Aaron stood up, rubbed his eyes, and slipped off his ring. "What did this man you nicked it off of look like?"

"Short," George said.

"With a goatee," Fred said.

"A bad goatee," George said. "Went by Demitri."

”Had he been at the match?”

”Yes.”

The air snapped as Aaron disappeared.

"Is he-"

"He'll be right back," Charlie said, stacking their homework and books into a pile and not even bothering to look up.

_CRACK_

"Well, your friend Demitri was pissed in more ways than one," Aaron said. "And you were right about his goatee."

Charlie raised an eyebrow at Aaron.

"What?"

"You will do anything to avoid getting on a broom."

"Would you rather waste a few hours circling Scotland, or arrive at the front gates of the stadium instantaneously?"

"Wait," George said, "you can take us right there? So, it is true."

"What's true?"

"What everyone says about what you can do. Well, what Bill says, at least."

"Some of it," Aaron said. 

Fred asked, "So, what do we do? Do we all hold hands and stand in a circle while you make us disappear or what?"

"I think he has to be touching us."

"Alright, but I still think holding hands and chanting is the way to go."

"I swear,” Aaron said, “I will leave you both here.”

Aaron grabbed Fred's shoulder and George's arm. Charlie held onto Aaron's arm and the library pitched forward, sending them hurtling toward the meadow surrounding the massive Quidditch stadium. They appeared ten yards from the front gate, standing between a row of tents and in front of a confused, and drunk, looking group of witches and wizards wearing Canadian colors.

Charlie looked at Aaron. "Want to tell me why you couldn't apparate us right into the stadium?"

"We have the pass," Aaron said. "Might as well be honest."

"Your Auror training has ruined you."

George and Fred staggered away from Charlie and Aaron, not over the motion sickness yet, but too excited to care.

"Not completely," Aaron said. "I'm not going to remind your brothers they're still dressed in drag, or tell Fred he still looks one-hundred and eight."

"I wouldn't want you to."

Lights came from everywhere, pouring out of the stadium and the tents covering the meadow. There was music, fireworks, and they could hear the announcers. 

_"That's another block by Michael Burke! That makes it . . . what . . . is anyone even keeping track anymore?"_

Fred and George turned back to Aaron and Charlie for a second before they ran to the front gate. "Come on!"

Charlie ran behind them, with Aaron on his heels.

Fifteen minutes later they sat in a private box right in the center of the stadium, high enough to see everything, and low enough to not experience altitude sickness. The box, Fred found out, came with free food.

The match continued for fifteen hours. Two more players were seriously injured. One witch forgot to re-cast her alertness charm and fell off her broom, but someone in the stands noticed and caught her with the levitation charm before she hit the ground. Fred, George, Charlie, and Aaron stayed until the end. When the match was over – and Canada won – they were tired, full of meat pies and butterbeer, and had lost their voices from cheering and talking shit over the noise of the game and the crowds.


	95. The Winter of Our Discontent

**December 1990**

Tonight, there were two ornate iron doors at the top of the spiral stone staircase, and neither of them had a knob or a keyhole. Eni raised her hand, thought _Aparecium_ , and watched eagle-shaped knockers appear between the decorative wrought battens. She lifted one with each hand and released them together. They fell _CLANG_ back into place, and two spirit guardians – one from each door – materialized in front of her.

"One door will take you to the common room, while the other door will take you nowhere," said the first guardian.

"You may ask one of us a single question," the second said, "but beware. While one of us is honest, the other will only tell you lies."

_Knights and Knaves again, I see. That's the second time this term. I'll have to tell Professor Flitwick the damn entrance needs its enchantments re-set._

"Very well," Eni said, and faced the guardian on her left. "Which door would the other spirit tell me leads to the common room?"

"Why, the door on your right, naturally."

"Naturally," Eni said, and opened the door on the left.

She walked through the guardian into the high-ceilinged Ravenclaw common room. Three students – a Third Year and two Fourth Years – looked up when she came in and smiled, before going back to their projects. The Third Year stood in front of an easel, painting a detailed twilight landscape involving dense oaks, Thestrals, and flowering vines. The Fourth Years had gotten their hands on a Macintosh Classic and had pulled it apart, trying to modify – without much success yet, it looked like – its components to run on magic.

Eni walked over to them. "Circuitry is tricky. There aren't gears small enough to replicate what the motherboard can do, or magic-based ways to duplicate the software."

"We were thinking we'd have to make some type of abacus or slide rule system to handle the programming," the girl – _Ada Jones_ \- said. "And come up with some extensive enchantments."

"You could if you want to go all out," Eni said, "but if you want faster results, you can just have a go at generating mechanical energy. You'll need a lot of equipment, but if you set the animation charms right, you should be able to use the monitor, keyboard, and mouse as-is once you've finished the power source."

"Would you use a gear array?" the boy asked. _Michael? Steven?_ It was the first time they had talked.

"I would go for a sprocket and chain setup for a bit more torque," Eni said. 

"Right," the boy said, setting down the housing piece he was holding and staring at the exposed innards of the Macintosh.

Eni said, "You'll get there, I swear," and left them to their own devices.

She walked beneath the ceiling of stars and headed for the girls bathroom. The room was empty. Eni grabbed a towel, pulled off her clothes and tossed them in the laundry bin, and ducked into a shower stall. She turned on the water and stepped beneath the stream. She let the water cover her head until she gasped and leaned forward. The stone floor was cold. She bent down, pressed her palms against the stones, and enchanted them with _Focillo_. Heat radiated upward from the soles of her feet.

_No, his name isn't Michael or Steven. Michael is the Fifth Year with the blonde hair. Steven is the Second Year who runs between classes and never talks to anyone. Is it Michah? Scott? Serves you right for never spending time with your own damn house._

She scrubbed her arms and poured shampoo into her hand.

 _"You will now be sorted into the house that will be your family for as long as you remain at Hogwarts,"_ Dumbledore had said. Only, it had never been true. Her family consisted of two townies, a dragon-obsessed redhead, a jokester metamorphmagus, and a teleporting smartass. None of them had ever given much of a shit about house pride.

Eni finished washing, shut off the water, and wrapped herself in a towel. She walked to the Sixth and Seventh Year dormitory and crossed the room to her corner and its three floor-to-ceiling windows. Abstract art pieces she had made over the years - consisting of stained glass, metal wire, and discarded, modified fragments of old baking pans liberated from the kitchen - floated in front of the windows, sending colored moonlight across the walls. Eni opened her armoire. She got dressed, took a recipe book off her bookshelf, and laid back on her bed.

She hadn't gotten far when an owl landed on her nightstand. It tilted its head and shook its wings. Eni took the rolled parchment off its leg.

_I know it's late, but there's something I have to show you. And something you need to know. Come to Lara and Adam's house. I'll be waiting for you_

_Lee_

Eni smiled. Who _else?_

She reached back into her armoire for a sweater, jeans, and boots. It had snowed all day, and it was still below freezing, so she took out her long coat, gloves, and scarf, too. She enchanted the lot of it with the same heat-radiating charm she had used on the floor, and left the dormitory.

She was halfway down the One-Eyed Witch Passage when she realized she'd forgotten her scarf on the bed. No matter. She wouldn't be outside for long.

A few minutes later, Eni pushed open a door and stepped inside the cellar of Honeydukes Sweetshop. The store was closed, dark, and there was an alarm enchantment over the register and front counter. She avoided the area entirely and walked to the back door. She waved her hand, thought _Alohomora_ , and let herself out into the snow, using a charm to re-lock the door behind her.

Lara and Adam's house was a quarter mile from Honeydukes. Eni walked through Hogsmeade beneath lamplight, leaving footprints in the snow. A few bundled-up witches and wizards passed her, but, while short, Eni looked old enough now that she didn't get many glances that questioned what she was doing outside of the castle after curfew.

Lee stood on Lara and Adam's front stoop, clutching her own shoulders. "Come on! It's freezing out here."

Eni's breath fogged in the air. "Where's your jacket?"

Lee said, "Didn't grab it. I knew you'd be along."

Lee wrapped her arms around Eni and kissed her forehead. When she pulled back, her face had changed. "I love you, you know that, right? You know I would never do anything to hurt you?"

"Yes? Lee, what's going on?"

Lee looked down the street, opened the front door, and pulled Eni inside. Eni stomped the snow off her boots. The house was warm and smelled like apple cider. Raised voices Eni didn't recognize came from the living room. 

When the door was closed, Lee said, "I wanted you here tonight because we're having a meeting."

"A meeting?"

Lee nodded. "Eni, there's a group that's been trying to work for muggle-born rights and put an end to the muggle-born trace. What The Ministry is doing - all the shit with the killers - the trace should be illegal and-"

Eni pulled off her jacket. "Lee, how long have you been meeting with this group?"

"Since we came back from the protest last year. That's when Lara told me she was involved and told me what all they had done and were planning. I was going to ask you to join us then, only I didn't know if I should."

"Of course I'd want to be a part of something like this," Eni said.

Lee shook her head. "No, Eni. I still don't know if you will want to, once I tell you the rest. But I wanted you to know the truth, and I wanted you to listen to what these people have to say, because I think it is worth it."

"You're scaring me a bit."

"I know. Please don't run out once I tell you."

"Tell me what?"

"I'm trying to work up the damn nerve to tell you. I should have told you months ago."

"I'm not going to run, Lee. Whatever it is, tell me."

The voices coming from the living room were loud. Eni caught pieces of the discussion.

"I know all of you want to act, believe me, I'm tired of sitting on my arse and watching our world go to shit," came a man's voice, "but we have to do this the right way, or we are no better than the Death Eaters and Aurors."

"We are going to come up with a plan that doesn't rely on harming others, for once," a woman's voice said.

"Harming people is the only way to get their attention," another man said.

Another voice said, "Hurting them does shit. We have to be smarter about this. We can't beat them using brute force or inflicting pain anymore."

Lee took Eni's hand and stood between her and the living room. "These people are working to end all of this, Eni. They already have plans to destroy the trace and find a way for muggle-borns to get their autonomy back. They are going to get a muggle-born on the Wizengamot. They have been searching for the remaining muggle-born killers, too. They are good people, Eni, but the group was initially a reaction to a lot of hate, and the first time they tried to change things, they fucked all of it up worse."

Eni's throat had gone dry. "What did they fuck up worse?"

"The train, Eni. They attacked the train."

Eni felt like she wasn't standing in her own body anymore, like Lee was talking to her from the far end of a tunnel.

"Two of the men who attacked the train are dead, Eni," Lee said. "They were killed when they lost control of the mud summoning spells and choked to death."

Eni could feel herself choking on mud - covered in it - casting a shield inside of a dark train car while her friends screamed.

"Eni? Eni, please say something."

Eni ran her tongue over the scar on her bottom lip.

"Eni, I'm so sorry. I should have told you when Lara told me. I didn't want to hurt you or make you think of the train attack all over again. I didn't want to-"

"Hold me, or something. I feel," Eni said, "like I'm not here anymore."

Lee wrapped her arms around Eni and pulled her against her body. "Eni, I'm so sorry. I know how bad it was, and I didn't want-"

"They're dead, too, the men who attacked the train?"

She felt Lee nod. "Two of them are."

The framed pictures in the hallway shook on the walls as Eni clenched her fists. "Who else was involved, Lee?"

"I don't know who all of them were, but Lara was there."

One of the picture frames shattered and fell off the wall. The voices coming from the living room were too loud for any of the other people to notice.

_Did they notice when we were all choking to death?_

_Did Lara NOTICE when there were five bodies laid out in Hogsmeade?_

"Eni, Lara wanted to kill herself after the train attack. Adam told me she came back here screaming and covered in mud. She tried to save the train. She pulled two of the dead kids out of the collapsed train car."

Eni shook her head.

"It all went wrong, Eni. No one was supposed to die. The train was just supposed to get covered in mud to get people's attention. It went so wrong."

_We never knew. No one ever knew why it happened._

_It never should have happened. It went so wrong._


	96. Every Year.  Forever.

**December 1990**

_Aaron,_

_Well, here we are again – two weeks before Christmas. You know what that means. I've spent every December since 1984 writing and inviting you to come to our house for the holidays. Dumbledore didn't give you permission to leave your first three years, your fourth year you told me you had to catch up in your classes since you had started being able to use magic (Arthur and I were so thrilled for you!), and your fifth year you had to study for your O.W.L.s. Last year – I still can't believe this – I didn't hear back from you and I had to find out, in January, through my damn sons, not from you, that you spent Christmas and New Years in St. Mungo's alone. Why you didn't tell Arthur and me you were in the damn hospital so we could come see you and make sure you were alright, I will never know. If you ever do that to us again, I swear I will put you in the hospital myself._

_I would LOVE to hear whatever passes as your excuse this year._

_Love,_

_Molly Weasley_

* * *

_Aaron,_

_Please respond to the letter Molly sent you two days ago before she sends a Howler. I find it is best not to leave her waiting in these situations._

_Arthur Weasley_

* * *

_Molly and Arthur,_

_You both know I want to come, and I'm sorry I've never made it to The Burrow for the holidays. You've always been generous about inviting me. It's not that I don't want to be there. I do. I was planning on coming this year. I even started packing. There's something I have to do for Moody though. I can't get out of it. He won't let me work in the field with him anymore until I do it, and I haven't had any time to get it done with end of term exams._

_I'm sorry. I really do want to be there. Is there any chance I'll be invited next year, when I'm done with Hogwarts and I have more control over my life?_

_Aaron_

* * *

_Aaron,_

_Tell Alastor Moody that I will personally show up at his flat in Edinburgh (I know where he lives, believe me) and give him a piece of my mind if he has you doing Auror work on Christmas. I swear to Merlin, he has no damn awareness of what it is like to have a life outside of his, pardon my muggle, fucking Ministry work. Tell him to let you live your life. Show him this damn letter, if you have to._

_And what kind of a question is that? Of course you're invited next year. And every year. Forever. It doesn't even have to be Christmas, for Merlin's sake._

_Love,_

_Molly_

* * *

_Molly,_

_I told Moody. He said, and I quote, "God fucking damn it, alright. But you can't leave until the twenty-sixth."_

_So, I will be there the morning of the twenty-sixth._

_I'm excited. What should I bring?_

_Aaron_

* * *

_Aaron,_

_That's wonderful! I knew the old codger would come around._

_Just bring yourself, dear. And, good luck with whatever the hell it is Alastor has you doing. He better not exhaust you._

_Love,_

_Molly_


	97. Midnight Run

**December 1990**

The uneven cobblestone streets of Prague amplified the sounds of rotating tires, announcing the approach of each vehicle with a cyclical _thud thud thud thud thud_. The noise was convenient. Juliet didn't even have to look for oncoming traffic before she stepped off the sidewalks and crossed the roads. It made it easy to follow Miles Novak – her contact - an old Czech man with a red scarf – through the preserved medieval city.

Her feet were killing her though. While a signature element of Prague, cobblestone was murder to walk on for any length of time. If she had known Miles would insist on leading her through the city on foot instead of appariting or using the floo network, she would have worn better shoes. But Miles told her the floo network was being watched, and they wouldn't be able to apparate into whatever area of the city he was guiding her to now. He told her it wasn't far, and she could see the sights, since she had never been to Prague.

_The least he could do is slow the fuck down._

Miles also insisted on speaking – non-stop for the last twenty minutes – in Czech. At first, Juliet had kept reminding him that she didn't speak Czech, but it didn't make a difference. Each time, Miles only apologized, managed a few sentences in broken English, and slipped right back into his native tongue. He pointed at restaurants, churches, and the castle on the hill as they walked beneath street lamps and Christmas lights, waving his hands, laughing, and looking back at her over his shoulder. Juliet alternated between nodding and ignoring him.

Miles walked through a crowd of old men standing on a sidewalk in front of a restaurant. Juliet followed him and got a face full of smoke and second-hand nicotine from their cigarettes. 

The street sloped down toward the dark river, where it turned into a bridge lined with lamp posts, gothic statues, and late night tourists with flashing cameras.

"Charles Bridge," Miles said in sudden English. "Very famous. Very old."

They were halfway across when, without warning, Miles climbed over the side of the bridge and leaped. Juliet ran to the edge and looked over the short stone wall, expecting to hear a splash and see Miles fighting the dark current.

She should have known better. Miles walked through the air parallel to the bridge. He looked back up at her and waved his hand, beckoning to her to follow him. "Platform invisible. Jump."

Juliet pulled out her wand and waved it over the dark river. The air wavered. Something was there. Juliet climbed over the wall and jumped. She landed on the concealed walkway with a clang and followed Miles along the outside of the ancient bridge, twenty-five feet above the Vltava.

Miles took out his wand and pointed it at a group of five love locks that dangled from an iron bar cast into the stonework on the outside face of one of the bridge's arches. The inscriptions on the locks glowed. Juliet recognized the protection charm symbols.

"Counter-charm passed along by word of mouth," Miles said, as he waved his wand. "Keeps out uninvited guests and, what do you call them, non-magic people?"

"Muggles."

"We call zadna. Just no." Miles eyed Juliet's wand in the dim light. "Blackthorn?"

"It is, yes," Juliet said.

"No see many of those."

"So I was told."

"It works for you?"

"We didn't get on well at first," Juliet admitted, "but I wouldn't trust anything else now."

"Very good. I try Blackthorn once. No well-suited to me."

The locks opened. A wooden door appeared to their left. Miles pushed it open and led Juliet inside. They took an iron staircase down into one of the bridge's piers until Juliet figured they were somewhere beneath the river.

Loud voices, bright lights, and music came from a short tunnel at the bottom of the staircase. They came out onto a well-lit, crowded, underground cobblestone street lined with shops and pubs. Music came from self-playing, stringed instruments that floated over their heads. The witches and wizards they shouldered past held steins and open-faced sandwiches. They ate, drank, laughed, and spoke loudly in Czech and Slovak.

Juliet followed Miles through the crowds.

"We call Pod Mostem. You have, how you say, Dragon Alley?"

"Diagon Alley," Juliet corrected.

Miles stopped and raised an eyebrow. "Not dragon? I always think dragon."

"No. Diagon Alley. Like in maths."

"In maths?" Miles resumed walking.

"I think it was supposed to be some type of pun."

"Pun?"

"Never mind."

Miles waved his hand dismissively. "This same thing."

_Not quite._

Pod Mostem was much . . . livelier than its London counterpart. There weren't any boundaries between the shops, restaurants, pubs, and the street. Patrons walked though open doors with full plates and goblets, carrying packages wrapped in brown paper and bags with glimmering shop names. Others leaned against store fronts while they spoke loudly to each other and shoved food into their mouths. There weren't any boundaries between most of the people either. Juliet saw a brothel and watched several prostitutes – male and female – work the crowds, grabbing shoulders, arms, and sliding wandering fingers over other body parts as a means of introducing themselves.

Juliet doubted the respectable magical families of Prague brought their eleven year olds here for school supplies, until she saw a cluster of young teenagers with their own steins and strands of Laughing Licorice dangling from their mouths. Central and Eastern Europeans did have a way about them.

But Juliet wasn't here to observe the local customs. She was here for Joseph Flint.

According to Moody, what Miles Novak lacked in communication skills, he made up for in intelligence and observation. In the 1970's, Novak had been a Sage – the Central and Eastern European equivalent of an Auror. Though he had been retired for over a decade, Novak, like Moody, had never been able to end his involvement with his former profession. He was forever gathering intelligence and keeping his ear to the ground. So, when he saw Joseph's brother, Elijah Flint, patronizing the same pub on more than one occasion, he informed The Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Juliet had arrived in Prague thirty minutes later.

Miles walked toward a pub whose name roughly translated to _The Witch's Alluring Tits_ , and whispered to Juliet. "Take your hair down and laugh."

"Excuse me?"

"If Flint is still inside, we should appear, how you say, casual," Miles said. "So, relax, laugh, and pretend like you are talking to me."

That would be easy. She had spent the first half of their evening together doing just that.

Juliet pulled the rubber band out of her hair, ran her fingers through the locks, and let it fall over her face as Miles led her through the front door of the pub.

A drunk man stumbled back from the bar, looked at Miles, and bolted.

"Ah," Miles said, "Someone told Mr. Flint we are here."

Elijah tripped into people on his way to the back of the pub. Juliet raised her wand and ran after him. 

"Get to the alley and cut him off," she yelled back at Miles.

"No alleys here," the old man said. "I will watch street."

Juliet pushed past drunk patrons. "Whatever, just get ahead of the bastard."

She chased Elijah. Trays of steins, goblets, and half-naked, swearing-in-Czech bar maids, went crashing to the floor as she shoved her way through the pub. She tripped over a chair, caught herself on a table, and kept going.

Elijah didn't go upstairs, or toward any of the windows. He raised his wand, yelled " _Confringo!_ ", and blasted apart most of a stone wall located between the pub and whatever fine establishment was next door. It took another " _Confringo!_ " for him to destroy enough of the barrier to shove himself through the masonry and into a parchment shop. Juliet almost had him, until a drunk witch collided with her. She shoved the woman to the side and squeezed through Flint's improvised exit.

Juliet shot two _Stupefy_ blasts across the parchment store, but Elijah's drunk movements saved him. He shot out the front door with the blasting spell - glass and wood shattered - and took off down the street. Juliet chased him, wand raised, firing spells and trying not to hit any innocent bystanders. Flint used the crowds to his advantage and ducked beneath people.

_Fuck this._

Juliet had something Elijah didn't have – a clear head. She hit herself with the levitation charm, floated over the crowd, and propelled herself forward with _Motivum Secundum_ , running in the air over the heads of confused, and drunk, magical Czechoslovakians. When Elijah was beneath her, she cutoff the charms and tackled him. They rolled across the cobblestone. Juliet grabbed Flint by the arms and forced him to his feet. He yelled in Czech as she pulled his arms behind his back and shoved him against a stone wall. 

Juliet grabbed Elijah's head and pulled herself inside.

Elijah's mind fought back with a string of – _English, at least_ \- profanity, but not much else. She tore through memories of what she assumed were his most recent nights with his wife, or mistress - lots of sweaty thrusting and clothes on a wooden floor - followed by a string of childhood trauma. She watched long enough to see a man with a beard break young Elijah's arm, and to see six year old Elijah take a nasty fall off a bicycle, then she forced his consciousness to show her the last few days. Elijah's memories became a blur as Juliet pulled through his head, looking for his brother. She finally saw Joseph inside a restaurant with blue tiles and wicker furniture; laughing and smoking with his brother as they walked down a dark street; and entering a house with a wrought iron front gate and red carpet on the entryway staircase. Elijah had left his brother at the house, and gone out for a drink.

Juliet didn't bother to make the transition easy or comfortable for either one of them. She tore out of Elijah's head and pressed eleven inches of Blackthorn into his neck. The man dry heaved, then threw up on his shirt.

"Where is he? Where is the house with the red carpet?"

Elijah spat chunks of vomit at Juliet. "Damn Auror bitch," he said, in the Queen's perfect English. "You and your-"

Juliet hit Elijah with _Petrificus Totalus_ and made his body hover in the air.

Miles pushed through what had now become a crowd of confused and scared bystanders. He raised his hands and spoke to the people. Whatever he said made everyone step back, clasp their hands over their mouths, and whisper to each other.

Juliet clasped iron shackles over Flint's wrists, took his wand, and pulled his paralyzed body through the air. She yanked his floating figure through the door of the first pub they came to and headed for the lit fireplace. She released Flint's head with a snap of her wand.

"-fucking Ministry."

"Yes, the Ministry is well known for fucking with the lot of us. Now, are you willing to rot in Azkaban for aiding and abetting your murdering brother, or will you take me to see him?"

"I'll rot for as long as it takes to-"

Juliet shoved her wand into Flint's throat, and pushed him into the fireplace.

Elijah screamed, unable to stop the flames from burning his mostly paralyzed body. Juliet stood on the hearth and pulled a vial of floo powder out of her coat.

"Take me to him, or I will leave you to the flames."

The pub's patron's screamed behind her. Miles was yelling and casting a shield to keep them away from Juliet and the fireplace.

Elijah, burning, screamed, "Zvonkova! Number Eighteen Zvonkova!"

Juliet broke the vial against the back, inside wall of the fireplace. Its contents turned the flames green. She jumped inside, grabbed Elijah, and said the words herself.

They tumbled out into a library where Joseph Flint sat with a frosted glass stein filled with a Czech Pilsner. He fell out of his chair when he saw his screaming brother and Juliet fall out of the fireplace. Joseph raised his wand and sent _Petrificus Totalus_ at Juliet, but she was ready for it and dived across the floor. She landed hard and sent _Stupefy Stupefy Stupefy_ blasts of red light at the killer's head. Joseph Flint disapparated – but not before Juliet grabbed him. She took his wrist, broke it, and pulled his wand out of his faltering grasp as they appeared in the restaurant with the blue tiles.

Juliet hit Flint with a concussive blast of force. His body shot through the air and hit a wall. She kept him pinned there and cast _Petrificus Totalus_.

"Next time you go into hiding, you murdering bastard, keep your brother out of the pubs, too."


	98. You Yourself Shall Keep the Key

**December 1990**

A violent winter storm tore across the Scottish Highlands and descended on Hogsmeade, assaulting the deserted, narrow streets with driving snow and sleet. The lamp posts and shop signs swayed in the wind, and the visibility plummeted with the temperature. Three days before Christmas, the Three Broomsticks Inn was the only place with light coming from the windows.

Aleus used a levitation charm to add more wood to the fire while Aaron scraped bangers and mash off his plate and poured himself more hot cider.

Hagrid shook his head and handed _The Count of Monte Cristo_ back to Aaron. "It's not a book is all I'm saying; it's a damn doorstop. Aleus, tell him it's a doorstop."

"It's a doorstop," Aleus said, without taking his eyes off the fireplace.

"How long will it take ya to finish reading that thing?"

"I don't know," Aaron said. He set the book on the bar. He had already been at it a month. Edmond Dantès was still in Chateau d'If.

"Well, you'll break your arm off carrying it around," Hagrid said.

Aaron shrugged. "Better than shooting myself in the leg with my own crossbow."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Hagrid said, "I told you, you startled me with your damn apparition."

Aleus walked behind the bar and looked at Aaron's empty plate. "Want more? Maybe a third helping?"

"If you've got it."

"I've got it alright." Aleus took Aaron's plate and went back into the kitchen. Aaron pulled a few Sickles out of his pocket and set them on the bar.

Aleus came back, set a full plate in front of Aaron, and shoved the coins next to the book. "Keep your money. I've got too much food and not enough mouths with everyone gone for the holidays."

Aaron took two fast bites. He wasn't hungry anymore, but he would be. 

"You're both welcome at my hut for Christmas, if ya want to come."

"I'll bring the ale," Aleus said. "And I've got a roast I can thaw."

"I won't be here," Aaron said, "but I appreciate the invite."

"That's right," Hagrid said. "You'll be at The Burrow. Molly and Arthur make a great Christmas dinner. I was there myself a few years ago. Molly will insist on feeding you until ya make her stop."

The wind howled as it came through the gaps between the front door and its frame. The resulting cold draft fought the fireplace for control of the interior climate until Aleus hit the door with a wave of his hand and some type of shielding charm. Aleus, like his niece and nephew, had never used a wand. The magic they used was goblin, foreign, and Aaron didn't understand how it worked. He should ask Aleus to explain it sometime – but not tonight.

Aaron looked at his watch. It was eleven o'clock. He was out of time.

Aaron stood up and enchanted his gloves, scarf, wool cap, and coat – all of which were heaped on the empty chair next to him – with _Focillo_.

"You're not leaving are ya? It's not even late."

"There's something I have to do," Aaron said, pulling on his coat. He wrapped the scarf around his neck and tugged the cap over his head. A few strands of hair came out and fell in his face. He looked at Aleus. "Can you hang onto the book for me? I wouldn't want to break my arm off."

"If I don't decide to use it for kindling, sure," Aleus said. "Damn thing could feed a fire all night. I wouldn't even have to enchant it."

Aaron pulled on his gloves and headed for the front door.

"You're not appariting?"

"I need to walk after all the potatoes."

"You should apparate," Hagrid said. "No one should be outside in all that. I'm staying here tonight myself."

"He's right," Aleus said. "You'll freeze solid before you get back to the castle."

"I won't stay out long."

"Ya could get lost with the snow blowing the way it is."

"As long as I can apparate, I don't think I can physically get lost," Aaron said. "When it gets too cold, I'll jump right into the Gryffindor common room."

"If that damn ring doesn't freeze ta your finger first."

"I'll be fine, Hagrid."

"Just the same, be careful. I don't want ta have to dig ya out of a snowdrift."

Aaron pushed the front door open. The wind and cold took the breath out of his lungs. He made himself walk outside before Aleus and Hagrid could stop him.

The joke was on Aleus. Aaron had left the Sickles on the bar next to his book.

_Fuck this wind stings._

It was freezing, even with the enchantments on his clothes. Aaron pulled the wool cap down over his forehead and yanked the scarf up to his eyes. He took a few steps into the piled snow – it was already halfway to his knees – and ignited the end of his wand. It didn't take long for him to lose sight of the Three Broomsticks. 

With the blowing snow and deep drifts, nothing about Hogsmeade looked familiar. Aaron told himself he shouldn't feel nervous, but he did. He didn't want to go through with any of it. He wanted to do what he said he was going to do and go back to the castle.

Aaron listened for the sounds of expanding and contracting air - or anything to let him know he was being followed - but it was impossible with the storm. All he heard was the wind and the haunting sound of a sign swaying somewhere to his right.

_"Don't run. Don't fight. Do exactly what they tell you to do."_

It would be soon. He was far enough from the inn that it would be soon.

_"Don't forget anything I've told you. You'll need all of it to get through."_

There were two of them. The first figure walked toward him through the blinding snow with a raised wand. Aaron never even saw the second attacker; a wand was just suddenly shoved into the back of his neck. The knotted, uneven end glowed a threatening shade of _Stupefy_ red. The figure in front of him wore a hood that covered their face.

"Drop your wand," the person behind him said. The voice sounded modified; pitched somewhere between a man and a woman's.

Aaron let go of his wand and watched it fall into a snowdrift.

"Get on your knees," said the hooded person in front of him. It sounded like an older man, but he didn't recognize the voice, and he didn't walk with the Moody-like gait of someone who has lost a leg. "And put your hands behind your head."

Aaron did as he was told and knelt in the snow. His scarf blew off his face and the wind bit into his exposed skin. 

The man picked up Aaron's still-glowing wand and stepped forward. He studied Aaron's face, and his voice changed. "I've seen you somewhere before."

"Probably at The Ministry," Aaron said.

The person behind him kicked him in the ribs. "You were instructed not to talk until you were given permission." 

Keeping their wand pressed into Aaron's neck, the second attacker clasped iron shackles over his wrists, pushed him face-down in the snow, and knelt on Aaron's back while they gagged him with what tasted like a torn dish towel.

The old man pulled Aaron to his feet, still trying to figure out why the incapacitated young wizard looked so damn familiar, but he couldn't place him. 

The second attacker hit Aaron with _Stupefy_.

* * *

" _Rennervate_."

Aaron woke up. He was slumped against a concrete wall in a room with a stained stone floor. His coat, scarf, gloves, and wool cap were gone, but the shackles were still on his wrists, and anchored to an iron ring bolted to the floor.

"What were you doing in Hogsmeade?"

Aaron recognized the voice. The wizard standing over him was the same old man from the snow-covered street.

 _How long was I unconscious?_

He had no concept of time, and no idea where they had brought him. It was supposed to be that way.

"What were you doing in Hogsmeade?"

Aaron tasted something in the back of his throat – sage and powdered Asphodel root. He recognized the flavors. 

_Veritaserum._

"I don't know. Can I talk?"

The wizard punched him – right where his jaw attached to the rest of his skull. Aaron gasped and instinctively reached for his face, but the short chains stopped him.

"What were you doing in Hogsmeade?"

Aaron didn't say anything, mostly because he wasn't sure his mouth was still functional. 

"You were seen leaving the Three Broomsticks alone."

_I'm fighting the potion, and I'm not going to give him shit._

"What were you doing in Hogsmeade?"

The back of his throat started to burn. The sensation spread to his neck and worked its way into the base of his skull. The old man must have poured the Veritaserum in his mouth right before he woke him up. Aaron _hadn't_ been fighting the potion – it hadn't even been in his system yet.

His mouth opened without him meaning for it to. "I was eating. And drinking cider."

"I was there-" _stop talking_ "-waiting for-"

It was like the first time he'd been under Veritaserum at St. Mungo's; like the last month of training to fight off the effects of the truth potion hadn't happened. He couldn't shut his damn mouth.

"-waiting for-"

_Christ. STOP. I’m failing._

Aaron clenched his swelling jaw shut. His mind burned. The potion didn't like being ignored.

"Waiting for what?"

_Potion._

_It's just a potion._

_Fight it._

"What were you waiting for?"

"I was waiting for-"

_Fight it._

"For you to-"

_Make yourself think about literally anything else._

"For me to do what?"

All he could think about was -

_Veritaserum. Advanced Potion Making. Page 247._

"For you to-"

_It takes a minimum of twenty-eight days to brew. Highly controlled by The Ministry of Magic._

The old man shoved his wand into Aaron's neck.

"Dragon's blood," Aaron spit out.

"What?"

"Dragon's blood. Nightshade. Sage. Powdered Asphodel root. Less than a gram of Deadlyius, and nettle leaves to lessen the toxic effects."

The wizard hit him in the jaw again. Right in the same spot. Something cracked, but the pain was a distant second to the livid Veritaserum in his skull.

Aaron's head was on fire.

"What were you doing in Hogsmeade?"

Aaron thought of Snape leering at him, standing on the other side of his desk and telling him to add more sage and less nightshade next time, looking at him like he always had - like he was the useless kid who couldn't use magic, taking up space in his Potions classroom. Not worth spending any extra time on.

"Once the nettle leaves have dissolved, stir clockwise for twenty minutes until-"

The wizard grabbed Aaron's hair and yanked his head forward. "What's your name?"

"-the color changes from green to white and-"

The wizard shoved his head against the concrete wall. "What's your name?"

"-starts to turn translucent-"

"What's your name?"

_Fuck, it burns._

_Focus on the recipe. Recite the rest._

"-and then let it set for another twenty minutes-"

"What were you doing in Hogsmeade?"

"-before storing it in a dark cabinet for a full lunar cycle," Aaron said. Blood ran from his split bottom lip.

He looked at the old man, with his mind and jaw burning. And said nothing.

_It's working. I’m beating it._

”What were you doing in Hogsmeade, Aaron?”

"Nothing."

"What were you-"

"I wasn't even in Hogsmeade. Are we done here?"

The old wizard released him, extinguished the lanterns mounted to the wall with a flick of his wand, and left Aaron alone in the dark.

* * *

The wizard who had approached Aaron on the street in Hogsmeade - and poured Veritaserum down his throat - was Owen Parkinson, a fifty-eight year old Auror who spent most of his time on a fishing boat off the coast of Craster these days. Re-occurring pain in his left shoulder from an old injury had kept him out of the field for a long time. He was surprised when Alastor Moody asked him for a favor.

Parkinson walked up to Moody.

"Were you watching? Your recruit just fought off Veritaserum."

"I was, and I wasn't expecting anything less from him, not after all the work I've put into making sure he could do it," Moody said.

Moody and Parkinson watched Aaron through the enchanted one-way concrete wall. Another charm let them see despite the dark interior.

"He looks younger than Juliet was when you brought her in here. Is he even eighteen yet?"

"Has been for a little over a month."

Aaron couldn't reach his bleeding face. He licked at the blood on his lip.

Parkinson nodded toward the iron door. "Do you want to go in there?"

"No," Moody said, walking away from the wall with his hands shoved in his coat pockets. "Let’s leave him in the dark for twenty hours and try the Veritaserum again when he's hungry and hasn't slept for shit."

* * *

Aaron didn't know how long he sat in the dark until his head nodded forward and he slept. It didn't last long. He kept waking up, cold and uncomfortable. There wasn't enough slack in his restraints to stand, and laying on the stone floor was worse than leaning against the concrete wall.

His stomach started making noise, and his throat was dry.

_Take it easy. They haven’t even cursed you yet._

* * *

The old wizard woke Aaron up from a half-formed dream and poured three more drops of truth potion down his throat.

"What were you doing in Hogsmeade?"

Aaron waited for the potion's burn to spread up his stiff neck. When it bored into his skull, he bit his tongue to keep it from moving.

"I know you want to sleep. Just tell me what you were doing in Hogsmeade. It's easy - let the Veritaserum do all of the work."

Aaron kept his mouth closed, leaned against the wall, and took another hit to the jaw.

* * *

Three days after he'd ventured out into the snowstorm, the lack of sleep, food, and water made Aaron light-headed. His legs and back were sore from sitting and laying in the same few positions, and the pain in his swollen face kept him from sleeping for more than thirty or so minutes at a time. He would never be able to get the taste of Veritaserum out of his throat.

Aaron wondered if they had forgotten about him, until Juliet opened the door.

_Shit_

She ignited the lanterns and handed him a bottle of water. Aaron pulled the cork out of its neck and drained it.

"You're doing well," Juliet said.

"I feel like shit."

"You're supposed to."

"Was that you behind me in Hogsmeade?" Aaron thought he had felt the hard, uneven knot of a filed-down thorn in his neck.

"It was. I'll give you something for your ribs later."

"My ribs aren't so bad, compared to my face." Aaron set the empty bottle on the stone floor. Juliet wasn't here to make him feel better. "Is this the part where you make me wish I didn't have thoughts?"

She raised her wand. "This is the part where I make you do whatever I want."

Juliet cast the Imperius Curse.

For a minute, Aaron didn't feel anything. Maybe it wasn't going to take. Then, he felt -

_Shit_

\- tranquil. Almost euphoric. His vision went opaque. 

_No, don't let it -_

_\- don't let it what? Make you feel better?_

Juliet flicked her wand. The shackles fell off Aaron's wrists.

Juliet's lips didn't move, but he felt her in his head. _"Go on. Raise your arm."_

Aaron did.

_"Now the other one."_

_This isn't so bad._

Aaron held both arms over his head.

This was fine. And he felt . . . happy.

_"Lower your arms. Stand up."_

Aaron did as he was told.

_"Take a few steps around the room."_

Aaron did. It felt good to walk and move his legs.

_What was I worried about? The shit can she even do to me in here?_

_"Keep walking."_

He didn't have control over which direction he walked, but he didn't care if -

 _No. Fight it. You're going to fail the -_

It didn't matter. This was all fine. And he was happy.

_"Stop walking."_

Aaron stopped.

_"Turn around and walk to the wall next to the door."_

Aaron did.

_"Raise your left arm."_

Aaron's arm extended over his head at an awkward angle.

_"Now, reach for the lantern, and stick your hand in the fire."_

_NO FUCK STOP_

Aaron reached towards the flames.

_FIGHT IT. Stop letting her control you._

_She won't hurt me._

_YES SHE WILL STOP IT_

Aaron's fingers reached into the fire.

_HOLY FUCK NO MAKE IT STOP_

_STOP STOP STOP_

But he couldn't scream unless Juliet told him to.

Aaron's fingers blistered.

_MAKE IT STOP AND FIGHT IT NOW_

Juliet yelled, "You're not even trying, Aaron. Fight me before your goddamn hand is too burned to heal."

What had Moody told him? Did it matter? This was so much stronger than whatever version of the curse Moody had placed him under three weeks ago.

_"You have to fight the euphoric state. You have to get mad, and you have to shut whoever cast the damn thing out of your head."_

His blistered hand burned.

Aaron saw the scar on his raised arm, and thought of broken glass – the same feeling he used to use to summon magic. But it wasn't enough.

_Think of the rest. Remember the rest of what happened and get MAD._

He was eight years old, and his foster parents yelled _screamed_ at each other across a kitchen table. It startled him and he dropped the glass he carried. Broken shards scattered across the cheap vinyl floor. Aaron froze - halfway between the table and the sink. The man - Aaron couldn't remember his name, or maybe he'd made himself forget it - grabbed his arms and shoved him against a cabinet.

"You little shit. Clean it up."

The man threw him on the floor. Aaron hated that he had stayed there - on the stained floor with the peeling vinyl - crying and unable to stop what was happening to him.

_What else could I have done? I was a kid and he -_

The man had picked up one of the bigger pieces of glass and stood over Aaron. "I said, clean it up. Get off the floor."

Aaron threw up his arms to protect his face in time for the jagged shard to tear into his flesh.

_NOW FIGHT IT LIKE YOU WISH YOU COULD HAVE FOUGHT HIM_

Aaron jerked his hand out of the flames.

 _Good._ _Now, fight her._

_Can you hear me, Juliet?_

_"I hear you. The fuck are you going to do about it?"_

This was all fine. And he was happy.

_No, I'm not._

Aaron summoned bile from vertigo and motion sickness, and shoved imagined fragments of broken glass between his mind and Juliet.

She said, "Good."

He hadn't gotten this far to get taken out by a goddamn mind-control curse. He pushed against Juliet and ignored her commands to stick his hand back in the fire.

_Get out of my head._

_”If you want me out of your head, then make your mind inhospitable, and drag me through it.”_

Aaron took the recent sensation of burning flesh and the still-searing pain in his hand and made sure Juliet could feel it. He pushed it into her - into the intrusive presence in his head - until it was the only thing in his mind. Juliet grabbed her left hand like it was on fire.

The curse dissolved.

Aaron's vision cleared. He screamed and exhaled air through clenched teeth in rapid gasps. His blistered hand shook.

Juliet grabbed his arm, took out a vial, and poured a red and gold potion into the air. She contained it with a suspension charm and submerged Aaron's hand.

The pain stopped. His hand tingled and twitched as it healed.

Juliet said, "I hate that curse. I fucking hate using it. Are you alright?"

The potion – whatever it was – had healed his hand. Aaron looked at his fingers as Juliet siphoned the spent liquid back into the vial.

Aaron staggered. Juliet grabbed him.

Aaron leaned against her. "The curse wasn't that strong when Moody used it on me."

"He didn't mean it," Juliet said. "You have to mean it, you know that. Here, sit down."

She helped Aaron back to his spot on the floor and replaced his shackles, leaving him with more slack this time.

"You did well."

"It didn't feel like it."

Juliet picked up the empty bottle. She used _Aguamenti_ to cast a stream of water from the end of her wand, filled the bottle, and handed it to Aaron.

Aaron drank slowly. His voice shook with exhaustion when he asked, "Are you going to torture me now?"

"No," Juliet said. "We don't use the Cruciatus Curse in this phase of training. It's too damaging. You'll undergo strictly controlled and monitored sessions under the curse after you’ve been given the tools you need to defend against it."

Juliet continued, "Which brings us to the last thing I have to do to you. It won't hurt, but it will be invasive as fuck."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to construct and cast your memory key, embed it in your neutral network, and bind it to your conscious and subconscious mind."

That _did_ sound invasive as fuck.

"Memory keys are the only way to defend against long-term interrogation and torture, and Aurors have been using them for centuries. The only problem – as you know – is that they don't always work. They can still break down if the Auror is placed under too much emotional, physical, or psychological pain. I don't want you ending up like Alice and Frank Longbottom, so I'm going to do something different with your memory key; something I've only done with my own. I'm going to excavate your mind to build it."

"Excavate it for what?"

"To create a memory key, you need a minimum of five strong memories from over the course of your life. Typically, the Auror gets to select what memories they want to use; the memories they think are the strongest. The process is flawed. They always pick the good memories; the happy feelings and smiles and rainbows. It weakens the key, because as soon as the Auror is confronted with pain, they go right to the key to save themselves – and lose the memories of times when they have survived horrible situations in the past, and the power that comes with that knowledge. If you only have happy thoughts, torture, by contrast, tears you apart. It broke Alice and Frank Longbottom's minds."

"So," Juliet went on, "instead of letting you chose your memories, I am going to look inside your head and collect your strongest memories – whether they are pleasant, or not. Because, it doesn't have to be a good memory, just a strong one. Something you can use to orient yourself in your own head and not lose your fucking mind."

Aaron took another drink and wiped his mouth. "There's a lot in my mind you won't like."

"I've been inside hundreds, maybe thousands, of peoples' heads, Aaron. Nothing you've got in there will shock me, or change how I see you."

Aaron shook his head. "You don't know that."

He was eight years old and crying on a kitchen floor - twelve years old and throwing up inside a dark stairwell - seventeen and tearing his wand through the air, making Black's body explode.

"It _will_ change how you see me."

He shoved the cork back into the bottle and said, "There's a lot of . . . bad things that have happened to me, and fucked up things that I've done."

"You don't get it. The fucked up memories are the ones that will make the key damn near unbreakable."

"No, _you_ don't get it. I can't-"

"The way I'm going to cast this key will save you when you're out there, screaming and losing your mind, because someone is trying to tear open your head. You've been under the Cruciatus Curse. If you want to survive it again next time, let me do this the right way, and fuck getting hung up on how I'll see you when I'm done. Your sanity, and life, is more important than that."

Aaron set the bottle on the floor and leaned back against the wall.

_Let her do it, or this is where it ends. Stop being afraid of all the shit you buried in your head._

He leaned forward. "Do it."

Juliet raised her hands and pressed her palms against Aaron's temples.

The world went dark. A series of hooks embedded themselves in Aaron's head and pulled apart the edges of his mind. 

Aaron was taken on a tour of his life, and there wasn't anything he could do to stop it. It felt -

_Like I don't exist apart from my memories._

Juliet bypassed fragments of Aaron's life that had little to no emotional significance - classes and lectures, washing dishes, writing reports, preparing food, and lying awake in bed - and memories flooded with emotion and action, but lacking the necessary long-term resilience she needed - jumping through folded layers of space, grabbing Dumbledore in a decaying house, getting stabbed in the stomach, thrown on the floor in a kitchen, felt-up on a couch while music came from a jukebox, and standing on a fire escape while a young man with pointed ears brought him to release. 

Juliet probed until she found what she was looking for - memories ignited with nostalgia, resilience, happiness, and pain. They came at her in no particular order.

_Aaron stood in the Forbidden Forest, holding a crossbow that was too big for him and looking into the eyes of a dying dragon. His breath fogged in the air._

_"Stop blaming yourself. It's making everything worse."_

_"I had to survive without magic, and I realized how hard that is to do."_

_"It's total shit, right?"_

_Aaron wrapped himself in a warm blanket and fell asleep next to a red-haired boy, finally starting to feel like he belonged somewhere._

_The sky turned a lighter shade of black, the dragon died, and green blood ran down his arms._

Aaron's memories skipped forward.

_"Go fuck yourself."_

_Aaron walked out of an abandoned house, exhausted and upset. An old woman with a scarf crossed the street and walked toward him. A ringing telephone receiver dangled in the air._

_He pulled a tall black girl into a convenience store. The shelves exploded around them._

_Aaron writhed on uneven pavement. Blood coated the inside of his mouth. He was helpless, in pain, and terrified that his friend was already dead._

_He grabbed his wand off the ground, and aimed it at the man who wanted to kill him. Black's body exploded._

Juliet kept going.

_Aaron was in the kitchen at Hogwarts, kneading dough and licking honey off his fingers, watching a Japanese girl with short hair write down a recipe inside the front cover of a book. He followed her down a graffiti-covered hallway. A song by The Clash filled a crowded room, and Aaron realized he was happy._

_The red-haired boy - Charlie,_ Aaron's mind told Juliet - _leaned against the wall next to him, and handed him a watch wrapped in brown paper._

_These are the people that care about you, idiot._

Time skipped forward, fractured, and latched onto the people standing in the basement with Aaron; onto three people who had made sure he didn't feel like he was alone and unwanted anymore.

_The Japanese girl - Eni - reached up and pulled headphones over Aaron's ears, so he could listen to the Ramones on her modified Walkman. Three years later, Eni walked through a writhing crowd and handed him a cigarette. Aaron pressed it against the end of hers and inhaled while a band played and people cheered and danced. Time jumped again, and Eni found Aaron sitting alone at the top of a stone stairwell. He held her while she cried and her body shook against his. He took her hand, pulled her through space - and they were sixteen again. Aaron stood in a hallway with a bleeding nose. Eni wouldn't let him leave without her._

_A girl with orange hair - Tonks - sat across from Aaron on the floor of the Hufflepuff common room, laughing and asking him to teach her another muggle swear. She sat across from him in the library a few months later, changing the shape of her nose and mouth until she made him laugh. The library faded and an older version of Tonks stood next to him on a fire escape. She told him she didn't always feel comfortable in her own, shifting skin. The years shuffled, and a younger Tonks wrapped her arms around Aaron and made room for herself next to him at the Gryffindor table._

_Charlie handed Aaron a lizard while Aaron followed him to the First Year boats, trying not to trip on his too-long robe. Three months later, Aaron stood across from Charlie in the Gryffindor common room. Charlie raised his hand and showed Aaron magic was real. He told him he wasn't going to get kicked out. Five years passed. Aaron grabbed Charlie's shoulder and pulled him off a bleeding Slytherin in the Hogwarts courtyard - into the Forbidden Forest - and into Carrow's trophy room. Aaron wrapped an arm around Charlie on top of a hill while a pyre burned, walked away from him in a crowded flat, and realized he couldn't live without him, but he had to let him go._

Juliet kept her hands on Aaron's head. _Where's the rest? Where are the memories you've kept hidden from yourself?_

_I haven't hidden -_

But the fog of suppression seeped through the edges of Aaron's conscious thoughts. Juliet walked towards it.

_Juliet, don't -_

She ignored him, and reached into the fog.

Everything that was Aaron's life after Arthur Weasley left him on the train platform in Hogsmeade disappeared with a sudden, nauseating jerk. Juliet tasted bile in the back of her throat.

_Aaron climbed across the back seat of a hot car and reached for a closed window. His face was wet, red, and he couldn't get out. The car had power locks and windows, and it had been hours since the engine was turned off. The car was in a parking lot - at the edge of a park._

_No. I don't want to use this one. I don't want to -_

_It's the strongest memory I've pulled yet._

_I don't care._

Aaron almost choked on the vomit that came out of his three year old throat.

_No. STOP. I don't want -_

_Aaron_

_STOP JULIET_

_Aaron, remember the rest. You didn’t die in this car. Show me what happened._

The memory distorted. Juliet thought she was going to lose it - that Aaron's mind had suppressed it to the point of permanent damage - but it flickered and stabilized.

_The window on Aaron's right shattered and a young woman reached inside and grabbed him. She pulled him out and held him against her chest in the parking lot. She carried him across the lawn and whispered that it was alright until he stopped crying._

Juliet pulled her hands off Aaron's head. Aaron didn't look at her.

Juliet summoned more water and made him drink it.

"I can get five memories out of that,” Juliet said.

Aaron was still nauseous - and still felt like he was in the backseat of the car. He could feel cracked and worn upholstery against his palms. He wiped his face and mouth.

"Your mind made you forget about the day you were trapped in the car, and for good reason. You were too young, and it was too traumatic."

"I didn't forget it enough. I kept getting pulled back to that park, like it wasn't the strongest location in all of the layers. Some part of me remembered."

"If you really don't want me to use it, I won't."

"No, you were right," Aaron said. "I need the bad memories, too. My memory key isn't breaking if this is a part of it."

"Then I will cast it now."

Juliet raised her wand and placed her left hand on Aaron's forehead. She muttered words Aaron couldn't hear and summoned the memories. Something tightened inside Aaron's mind, lacing his recall together with steel wire. 

"I need you to assign a short phrase to each memory. Simple, but meaningful. And tell me what they are."

"The park," Aaron said without hesitation. "Staying awake with the dragon. Milk bread with honey. Glasgow with Maddison. Eni, Tonks, and Charlie."

"Good," Juliet said, and resumed muttering her incantation. "Now, tell me where you were yesterday."

"In this room."

"That will always be the last part of the key. You have to remember where you were yesterday. You'd be surprised how hard that is to do when your nerves are on fire and you're thrashing on the ground, biting through your tongue."

Aaron remembered all too well the pain he had felt when Black hit him with _Crucio_. He had also never felt like his thoughts were so clear and focused, like they were tied together with razor wire that would tear apart anyone who tried to invade his mind.

"Recite the key. All of it."

"The Park. Staying awake with the dragon. Milk bread with honey. Glasgow with Maddison. Eni, Tonks, and Charlie. Yesterday, I was in this room."

Constructed and cast, Aaron's memory key embed itself in his head. Juliet was right. The modifications she had made to the way the key was formed, and the memories it used, was going to save his life.


	99. Decked with Holly, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been 100 degrees here and humid as shit, so this chapter was hard to get in the head space for. I guess drop your thermostat, take a cold shower, and pour something festive in your summer sun tea to prepare for what is apparently - not because of any planning on my part - a taste of Christmas in July.

**December 1990**

The Burrow was a beacon in the early morning darkness, wrapped in wreaths and garland, candlelight, and a magically-induced layer of snow. Enchanted lanterns - glowing red, white, and green - floated across the pond. Inside the dwelling, candles hung suspended in the air above the living room and floated between the branches of the tree. Each one of them was bewitched; they would never burn lower, extinguish without intervention, or set anything on fire.

The air in front of the kitchen sink wavered. Aaron smelled pine, holly, and candied fruit as soon as the cabinets, counter tops, and tile floor layered over the Gryffindor common room. Apart from the candlelight, The Burrow looked dark and quiet. Aaron concentrated and displaced just enough space to pull himself through with a muted _crack_ , managing to avoid the louder, abrasive noise that usually resulted from creating a sudden vacuum, or disturbing a pocket of air.

He set his worn duffel bag on the floor and waited to see if his arrival had woken anyone up.

The house stayed quiet.

Aaron pulled his ring back on and lit one of the kitchen lamps. He was starving. The table was covered with baked goods - trays of cookies, tarts, and pastries from yesterday's festivities - but he'd sat on a stone floor for four days with nothing to eat, and he needed real food.

Aaron opened the stove, added wood from the adjacent rack, and hit the kindling with the ignition charm.

Hours after Juliet had cast his memory key, Moody woke him up, removed his restraints, and gave him back his winter clothes, watch, and wand. It was over. Moody healed his swollen face and Aaron jumped back to Hogwarts to grab his things and shower. He had really needed the shower.

He opened the cabinets - trying to be quiet - until he found pots and pans. He also found _thank Merlin's ancient arse_ a stove top coffee pot. There were eggs, sausages, and leftover baked beans in the ice chest; tomatoes and mushrooms in a basket by the sink; and bread and ground coffee in the pantry. He would almost be able to make a proper full breakfast.

It didn't take Aaron long to grill some of the sausages, tomatoes, and mushrooms, heat up the beans, toast two slices of bread, fry a few eggs, and make coffee. He filled a plate, ate all of it, and was still hungry. He decided to go ahead and cook the rest of the food. The least he could do after raiding the Weasleys' ice chest and pantry was make breakfast. Aaron alternated between eating his second plate, grilling, frying, and stirring. He enchanted a large serving dish with a warming charm Lara had taught him years ago and filled it with cooked sausages and eggs.

"I can count on my wand core the number of times my boys have used that stove, and it wasn't for cooking."

Aaron looked up. Molly stood by the table.

"I hope you don't mind - I was starving, and I figured I'd just make enough for everyone while I was at it."

"Don't mind?" Molly made sure Aaron had his ring on, reached up, and took his exhausted face between her hands. She kissed his forehead. "I'm going to trade one of the twins for you."

"If you want to give up a child, you might want to make it Percy."

"Now, now." Molly stepped back and looked at him. "You've got to be the same height as Bill now. I feel like I was just packing up First Year robes for Arthur to give you, and now you're a proper young wizard. It all happens so fast! Your shoulders are filling out, too! I think you've got another growth spurt left in you."

Moody had gotten him mostly healed up, but Molly found a faded bruise on the right side of his face. "What is that?"

Aaron filled a mug with coffee and handed it to her. "Do you want the truth, or should I make up something about getting kicked by a centaur?"

"It's more damn Auror shit, then," Molly said. "Alastor started you too young. I know they need the help, but he should have waited until you were of age. I don't like thinking about you out there with these damn killers. You've already been hospitalized for it once, for Merlin's sake."

"Moody is doing what he has to, and I know the risks."

"You weren't in our world during the war, Aaron. Whatever you've seen so far, and whatever Alastor has tried to prepare you for, I promise it isn't enough."

Aaron made Molly a plate and handed it to her. 

Molly took it. "I don't want you ending up like my brothers."

Aaron still had the letter Molly sent him when she found out he was working with Moody, tucked between the pages of _1984_. She'd written to tell him - to _warn_ him - about the realities of the war, and what had happened to her brothers. Between her detailed account - and what he'd seen of Alice Longbottom - he knew how bad things could go.

"I know. And I don't want to upset you, but I'm not going to let the danger keep me from becoming an Auror, not when people are dying."

Molly set her plate on the counter and took a sip of the coffee. "Then be smart, and make sure you don't get in over your head. If you do, you've got enough sense - and the ability - to get yourself out of dangerous situations. It's a gift. Use it."

Aaron leaned against the kitchen sink. "I plan to."

Charlie walked into the kitchen and clapped Aaron on the back on his way to the stove. "Happy Christmas, mate. I'm glad Moody didn't kill you."

"It wasn't from a lack of trying."

Charlie took two sausages off the skillet - not seeming to care that they were hot - and wrapped them in a piece of toast. He took a bite and, mouth full, asked Aaron, "Did you make all of this? I'm impressed."

"What is it you think I do in the Hogwarts kitchen?"

"Corral house elves and steal alcohol."

"I'm going to start spitting in your food."

Charlie leaned against the counter across from Aaron. "You look like shit. It was bad, wasn't it?"

Aaron shrugged. "I got through it. The coffee is helping."

Charlie put a hand on his shoulder. "Get yourself rested up while you're here, alright? Bill left last night, so his bed's all yours."

"And we've already done Christmas morning gifts with Ron and Ginny, but I'm making dinner tonight, and we'll find something festive to do," Molly said.

Aaron kept his eyes on Charlie. "Just being here is enough."

Molly caught something in his gaze. He went to the stove and took off the pot of baked beans.

Charlie finished his improvised breakfast sandwich. "I've got to fly into town. Can you meet me in the forest in a bit? If you're up for it and not too bad off, I could use some help."

"Take Ronnie with you, too. He's missed having you and the twins around."

"No, Mother. I need someone who can reach higher than five feet in the air and properly use magic. I'll find something else to do with Ron later, I promise. I'll get the chess set out or something."

"Oh, he would like that," Molly said. "He's been playing against himself all year, and he's getting rather good at it. He beat your father a few weeks ago."

”Just what my ego needs,” Charlie said, heading for the door, “to get my arse kicked at chess by my kid brother."

Aaron said, "I'll finish up with breakfast and meet you at your camp."

"I'm assuming you can get there yourself?"

"Canvas tent in the woods? Fire pit? Half-arsed wooden shed?"

"Half-arsed?"

"Were you drunk when you built it?" 

"I was thirteen, and I couldn't use magic outside of school, so take that into consideration."

"Right,” Aaron said, “tell me all about how a thirteen year old would ever make do without magic."

"Just meet me out there before this chimaera takes my head off."

"I'll be there, Charlie."

"Charles Weasley," Molly said, "tell me you don't have a chimaera in the forest."

"What? No," Charlie said. "How would I ever even get a chimaera here from Greece? What a feat that would be."

Molly reached into the cabinet to take out more plates and mugs, turning her back on them. Charlie - excited - mouthed _there IS a chimaera in the forest hurry_ at Aaron and closed the back door behind him.

Aaron tried to remember what a chimaera even was so he could guess how much shit he was in for.

Molly poured herself more coffee and leaned against the counter next to Aaron. He avoided her eyes.

"How long have you loved my son?"

_Fuck_

"Aaron?"

Aaron took his empty plate and set it in the sink. He turned on the water. "I don't know, Molly."

Molly drank her coffee and kept her eyes on Aaron. "Did you realize that's what you were feeling?"

"Are you really going to make me talk about this?"

"No one else will," Molly said.

"I'm shit at this type of thing. I don't know what I feel for Charlie, if I'm honest."

"You care about him?"

"Obviously."

"But it's more than that for you."

"Yes, it is," Aaron confessed, to himself, and to Molly, "but it's not more than that for Charlie. You know he isn’t like that. He never thinks about this kind of shit, and I wish I didn't either. It's done nothing but make me feel like I'm going to fuc- ruin what we have now; that my daft gay arse will make him uncomfortable. That's the last thing I want."

Aaron shut off the water, added soap, and started scrubbing, distracted and not even thinking to use magic. "But I can't stop caring about him. I feel like I'm going to lose him as soon as we graduate, and he won't be in my life anymore. I don't want that."

"Have you told Charlie any of this?"

"I'm not going to."

"Charlie doesn't want to lose you either, Aaron. And you're too close for that to happen."

"Charlie wants to study dragons; he wants to be out there saving them and building his life around them. He's wanted that for as long as I've known him. He's going to be damn good at it, and I want him to be happy."

He shook his head. "I just wish we didn't want such different things."

"Merlin help you," Molly said. "You do love my son."


	100. Decked with Holly, Part 2

**December 1990**

From the air, Ottery St. Catchpole looked almost deserted. Most of the residents who lived within the limits of the town - both muggle and magical - had left for the holidays and went to visit friends and family who lived elsewhere, leaving the cobblestone streets and shops all but abandoned. Charlie circled overhead, made sure there weren't any unfamiliar muggles around - there didn't seem to be - and landed near the main road.

Ottery St. Catchpole was isolated, and boasted a population of just under one-hundred. It had been founded centuries before the International Statute of Secrecy, and the muggle residents knew - and had always kept quiet about - the magical families who lived amongst them. A few of them had intermarried over the years and entwined their lives through the generations, creating even more of a hybrid community. Charlie had thought the rest of the world functioned like his town, until his first trip to London. He was five years old when he wandered outside of Diagon Alley and learned the truth. A panicked Molly had found him, took his hand, and pulled him away from the crowded sidewalks and traffic. She yelled at him for going off on his own and told him he had to be more careful; he wasn't like _them_. He had to stay out of sight.

Charlie stashed his broom against the trunk of an elm and walked into town. It had been a warm winter in Devon and this morning was no different. He unbuttoned his coat and stuffed his scarf into his back pocket. String lights hung over the road and the lamp posts were covered with garland and strands of holly. He passed a dark deli, clothing shop, the post office, and the muggle book store before he came to _Commonly Ground: An Apothecary, Tea, and Coffee Experience_. Fuck if he had ever known what the experience was supposed to be. The tea and coffee selection had always far surpassed their apothecary inventory, and he often left disappointed _well disappointment IS an experience I suppose_ but there also weren't a lot of other options in this part of the country. This wasn't Hogsmeade.

The bell over the door chimed as he walked inside.

The young woman behind the front counter saw him. "Is that you, Charlie Weasley?"

Charlie was already halfway down a narrow aisle at the opposite side of the store. "It is. Happy Christmas, Felicity."

Charlie stopped in front of the shelves of plants that weren't made for steeping and consuming with cream or honey. He saw Essence of Daisy Root, but that wouldn't work. He needed the roots whole. He pushed vials and glass jars to the side and kept checking shelves. Maybe what he needed had been misplaced. It was all a part of the experience. 

_Tell me I don't have to go digging through the forest to find daisies in December._

Felicity was there suddenly, standing a foot from his shoulder. "Can I help you with something, Charlie?"

She was blocking the aisle. Charlie stepped around her.

"Do you have Daisy Root?"

"We have Essence of-"

"That won't do," Charlie said. "I need the roots whole."

Felicity leaned down and looked through the vials and jars in front of Charlie. The back of her arm brushed his leg. Charlie stepped back to give her more space.

"Are you going to get me tickets?"

"Tickets?"

Felicity said, "Yes! Your mum said scouts from the Cannons and Tornadoes have been talking to you and trying to recruit you."

"The Tornadoes can go fuck themselves."

Felicity looked up. "I hope you didn't tell them that!"

"I didn't use that exact phrase," Charlie said. He checked the shelves behind him, not convinced that Felicity was going to be very helpful.

Charlie had always felt bad for Felicity. Her mother was a muggle and her father was muggle-born. She was a year older than Charlie and had been devastated when she hadn't gotten an owl on her eleventh birthday. She had a lot of heart, but she had never had any magical ability. Felicity did better with the coffee and tea side of her workplace, if he was honest.

_This is taking too long._

Charlie took out his wand, waved it in a loop and thought _Accio Daisy Root_ , and heard noise from the back room. An unlabeled jar drifted across the shop and came towards him. Charlie grabbed it out of the air.

Felicity said, "Seems you don't need me for anything."

She brushed past him and walked to the register. Charlie made sure the contents of the jar were, in fact, whole daisy roots – they were – and took out a handful of Sickles and Knuts. He set them on the counter. Felicity took three of the Knuts.

"Are plant-based ingredients on sale again or something?"

"No, no," Felicity said, leaning toward him over the counter at an angle Charlie thought looked uncomfortable, "just remember me when you're a famous professional seeker."

"No chance of that," Charlie said, taking his jar of roots and unspent coins, "I've got other plans."

He left the shop before Felicity could delay him further.

Charlie walked to the elm and grabbed his broom. He wrapped his scarf back around his neck, tucked the jar of Daisy Root into his inner coat pocket, and took to the air. 

His camp looked the same as it did when he had left it at three o'clock that morning. There was a low fire burning in the pit, an empty pot of coffee on a stump - and an enraged, blind, adolescent, female chimaera roaring, bleating, and hissing inside a cage.

_Well, she slept like shit. So much for my Draught of Peace calculations. Good thing I bought the entire jar of Daisy Root._

_But fuck Merlin with a Mandrake, she's GORGEOUS._

It was the first time he had seen her in the daylight. She . . . shimmered; a flickering, four-hundred pound hybrid of lion, goat, and snake in an almost constant state of flux. The boundaries of her body ran together, and he would have a hard time describing just how much of her was each animal, and for how long, when he made notes later. The goat and lion side of her seemed to be constantly competing for control of the body and head while the tail was fully snake – with a head all its own. Her wounds looked worse. Shit, were there more or had he missed seeing them all in the dark last night? He should have stayed with her, but he had been exhausted, and, once she was asleep, he had flown back to The Burrow to get some decent sleep for a few hours.

Charlie whispered to her as he approached the cage, trying to calm her down. She couldn't see him, but she could smell him. Her snake tail could fit through the bars, and it tried to bite him.

"Is this because I used the cage? I know, I know, but I couldn't have you running off and eating a townie."

Charlie went into his tent and opened the jar from _Commonly Ground_. He poured all of the contents into his cauldron, added powdered moonstone, and syrup of hellebore. Draught of Peace typically called for powdered porcupine quills and unicorn horn, but Charlie hated using ingredients taken from animals, and Mia had turned him onto using Daisy Root instead – whole, preferably with the dirt still on it - not powdered, and not its essence – in place of the quills and horn. It worked, but it always took a lot more of it than he guessed to keep the larger animals relaxed and sedated.

He brought the draught to a boil and let it simmer. When it was ready, he filled a pitcher with water, added a few ladles of the potion to see how she would react before he tried more, and brought it outside. The chimaera had refused to drink the potion straight when he had tried giving it to her that way last night, but mixing it with water had done the trick. Not wanting to lose an arm, he set the pitcher on the ground and used a spell to siphon the mixture from the pitcher into her empty bowl. The poor, blind as fuck chimaera sniffed, rubbed her muzzle against the bars of her cage, and managed to find the offering after some trial and error. She lapped at the concoction.

Charlie had a split-second of warning – in the form of suddenly, displaced air – before Aaron _CRACK_ appeared behind him. 

He looked at the beast in the cage. "Shit, well, this isn't what I was expecting."

"I told you it was a chimaera."

"You did," Aaron said, "but my zero semesters of Care of Magical Creatures have left me unprepared."

"I've shown you pictures of chimaeras before."

Aaron said, "You've shown me a lot of pictures of animals, Charlie. I kind of just try to keep up."

Aaron took a step closer to the cage, but still kept his distance. "I thought chimaeras were more . . . serpent like."

"She can be, if she wants to. Keep an eye on her; she'll change. She just isn't feeling so great, and she can’t see for shit."

"What's wrong with her?"

"I need to get her properly sedated before I can make sure, but she's all torn up. I think one of her wounds is infected. I'm not sure what happened or what did this to her. If there are poachers in the area, we'll have a whole different set of problems. The blindness in all of her eyes seems to be unrelated. She was probably born blind."

"She's spell resistant, right?"

"So, you _don’t_ tune out everything I say regarding animals. Yes, she is. We'll have to do all of this the hard way."

"Did you really bring her here from Greece?"

"Greece? Oh, no," Charlie said, "I found her in the woods near town last night when I flew over after Bill and I had a broom race for old times' sake. Greece is definitely where they are native to, but they've had centuries to migrate and expand their territories. They've been in the United Kingdom since the 1400's, as far as I can tell. They just aren't very common. Which, I guess is good, because they will attack people when provoked."

The chimaera didn't look any less relaxed. It still paced its cage and yelled at them in all three of its native tongues. Charlie went back into the tent and dumped the rest of his creation into the pitcher. He filled the top with water, mixed it, grabbed his healer kit satchel, and went back outside.

After another cycle of siphoning, lapping, and yelling, the chimaera started to look –

_Drunk. Absolutely pissed._

"What was in that pitcher? Straight alcohol?"

"I'm still experimenting with the ratios," Charlie said. The chimaera leaned against the bars, then laid on the ground with its head back. It was still changing, so he couldn't have done too much damage to its senses. "I'm going in. Can you keep her lion and goat half in your sights so I can look at her properly?"

"What about the . . . tail?"

The snake head tail rolled back and forth on the ground. "I'll make sure to keep clear. If she starts looking agitated again, can you apparate in and get me out?"

"And test my reflexes against a drunk chimaera? Why not. At least we'll have a good story to go with our missing limbs."

"There's that Auror bravado."

Charlie pulled the strap of the satchel over his head, unlocked the cage, and went inside. Aaron took off his ring and watched from the other side of the bars, keeping his eyes on the chimaera's heads and Charlie. She didn't seem to notice that either of them were there anymore.

Charlie worked fast. He took a salve out of the satchel and rubbed it into her wounds. If it stung, the chimaera was too pissed to notice.

Some of her wounds _were_ infected. 

_What happened to you, you beautiful lady?_

The wounds looked like she had been biting at - and messing with - them, but there was an underlying pattern. Deep, circular bruising and gashes. It was like she had been kicked and mauled at the same damn –

Another roar came from the forest.

_Shit_

"So," Aaron said, "I'm no expert, but it sounds like you're getting two chimaeras for Christmas."

Charlie caked the rest of the salve on the last wound and got out of the cage. Aaron stood, facing the forest with his wand raised. Charlie pulled his out of his coat.

"How did you get the last one caged?"

"I lured her in with dead rabbits."

"Do you have more of them?"

"I think it has bigger prey in mind. Chimaeras are cannibals; the lion in some wants the goat in others. This one attacked ours."

The noise in the forest came closer. It could smell the other chimaera – and them.

"I assume you have a plan? That doesn't involve _Stupefy_?"

"Well, they might be spell-resistant, but we can work with that." Charlie looked at the cage. He flicked his wand and thought _Geminio._ The cage replicated and its clone appeared a few feet from the original.

The second chimaera came charging into the clearing. Unfortunately, this one seemed to be able to see them just fine.

 _And it’s massive, so . . . I'm going to have to_ –

Charlie hit the second cage with _Engorgio_ and went for his broom. "We have to keep this one away from the other one, and get it in the cage! I'll give it something to go after!"

Charlie jumped on his broom and flew at the _much fucking bigger_ second chimaera. The chimaera roared and jumped at him, but Charlie was already behind it, trying to corral it toward the cage – or, so he thought. The chimaera leaped again and landed on top the first chimaera's cage. His drunk chimaera didn't seem to notice.

Charlie flew at the attacking chimaera and raised his wand. He dove at its face until the chimaera decided the food on a stick was, at least more annoying, if not more interesting, than the meal in the cage. It chased Charlie into the forest.

Charlie wasn't worried – he actually had to make himself slow down so he didn't lose the chimaera. He circled through the trees with the creature behind him and flew back into the clearing. The chimaera ran back towards his camp –

\- where the second cage appeared in its path. The chimaera went through the open door and hit the back bars with a _THUD_. Aaron slammed the cage door shut and jumped back before the – now thoroughly agitated – chimaera could get to him.

Charlie landed. He made sure the second chimaera was secured and looked at Aaron. "Are you alright? That seemed . . . heavy."

"It was," Aaron said, "and I haven't had a lot of practice jumping large objects."

"I didn't even know it was possible to apparate a large stationary object like that."

"I don’t recommend it," Aaron said, laying back on the ground. He laughed. "Fuck me."

"Bloody well done, mate."

”You, too, Charlie. That was . . . excellent flying.”

The second chimaera roared at them.

"So, now that you have a matching set, what are you going to do with them?"

"I'm sending an owl to Mia. She knows people who can come collect them."

He looked across the clearing at the first chimaera; at her flickering, intoxicated on improvised Draught of Peace form.

"Well," Charlie added, "after I've studied them for a bit more, anyway."


	101. The Daily Prophet – 28 December, 1990

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies in advance for boring you, Ty - at least it is short?

**_Fudge Wins Election_ **

_Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Order of Merlin, First Class, was sworn in as the one-hundred and seventh Minister for Magic yesterday evening before a crowd of hundreds who had gathered at The Ministry of Magic, after the results of last month's election were announced. Those in attendance were treated to an extended speech from now Minister Fudge, in which he spoke at great length about how qualified he is, and how prepared he feels, to take on his new role in the our community._

_"This appointment is the next logical step in my career, and I intend to lead us all through what I very much hope will be the best years we have experienced as a magical society thus far, now that the darkness of the wizarding war is behind us and we have all had time to recover. Surely, there can only be good things in-store for all of us going forward."_

_While the majority of those in attendance cheered and yelled encouraging words of support, a group of muggle-borns, and other sympathetic dissenters, caused a bit of a commotion towards the end of the evening, when they chucked a bucket of mud at Minister Fudge. Fudge was quick to react, however, and cast an impressive shield charm between himself and his attackers. The muggle-borns were immediately escorted out of The Ministry and, this paper assumes, heavily fined, and potentially jinxed, for their antics._


	102. All the World's a Stage

**January 1945**

Dumbledore kept his eyes on the end of the narrow hallway as a group of Seventh Year students walked past him, heading to the north tower for Defense Against the Dark Arts. He should have brought his reading glasses instead of leaving them on his desk. He needed them more and more these days. 

As he approached his office, however, he realized that his eyesight wasn't failing him. His office door _was_ open.

He had closed it and cast his usual wards when he left for his third period Transfiguration class, he was sure of it. Cheating had become rampant that year and all of the professors had been told to ensure their office doors were locked and enchanted when they were not present.

But it was open all the same – left cracked a few inches off its frame.

Dumbledore pushed the door open. Tom Riddle sat in the chair across from his desk.

_If I did cast my wards, then how did the boy get in?_

_Surely, he isn't able to break my enchantments._

Dumbledore walked past Tom and set everything he carried – books and collected homework - on his desk. "I didn't realize you had an appointment to see me this afternoon, Tom, especially not during Professor Merrythought's class."

Tom held a mug. He had helped himself to tea from the self-heating pot Dumbledore kept on the table by the bookshelf. "Professor Merrythought allowed me to test out of her class prior to the holidays, seeing as I had started to provide valuable instruction to my fellow classmates beyond what she is capable of. I have been working with her in the evenings, grading papers and offering suggestions to improve her curriculum."

"I see," Dumbledore said. "How generous of you. I am sure she appreciates the help."

"Didn't she tell you? She plans on retiring at the end of the school year."

Merrythought had not told him. Tom always seemed to know things before they were common knowledge. And the boy was more than proficient at keeping secrets.

"She will be difficult to replace," Dumbledore said, hiding his surprise. He pulled out his chair with a wave of his hand and sat down. "Can I help you with something, Tom?"

"You've always had an excellent selection of books beyond what the library offers. I was hoping you had a copy of a book I have not been able to find since it was removed from the restricted section."

"What book would that be?"

" _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ by Owle Bullock."

"What do you want with that book?"

Tom took a drink from the mug. "My interest in the book is purely academic. Like all Seventh Years, I want to ensure that my chosen profession is truly something I feel comfortable undertaking. I believe _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ would be an invaluable resource for my last semester."

"What profession do you intend to pursue?"

"I plan on teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, of course. The position will be vacant soon and I have more than proven myself to be proficient with the available subject matter. However, I would like to know what all I am in for."

Dumbledore raised his hand and summoned his teapot, a mug, and a saucer. He made them pass through the air close enough to Tom's head so the boy had to duck out of the way. Dumbledore poured himself a generous portion, blew on the steaming Earl Grey, and sipped.

Any other professor would have told anyone who would listen the same thing – Tom Riddle was a model student; exceptional. Prefect, Head Boy, and – as of October – the recipient of the Medal for Magical Merit. There was no doubting the boy's brilliance. His grades had never been less than outstanding.

_And neither is the face he chooses to show everyone; this mask that isn't Tom._

Dumbledore had seen the real Tom Riddle in an orphanage in 1938; an eleven year old boy who admitted he could hurt people and make them to do whatever he wanted. An eleven year old boy who kept things from people and enjoyed feeling superior to those around him.

Dumbledore set his mug back on its saucer and lied. "I'm afraid I do not have a copy of that particular book."

"But I've seen it on your desk on prior-"

"On prior uninvited trips to my office?"

"Your door was open. I didn't see any harm in letting myself-"

"I wish I did have the book you are searching for, Tom. I believe you still have much to learn, and any additional resources would certainly prove useful; however, I cannot help you. Perhaps try Professor Slughorn. I have noticed you and him have become very close these past two years."

Dumbledore saw what others would have missed; a slight hardening of Tom's facial features and the set of his jaw. It lasted a second before Tom smiled – with his mouth, not his eyes – and said, "That is a shame. I was so hoping you would help me."

"If there's nothing else-"

"Are you going to go after him?"

"Who?"

Tom sent his empty mug back to the table by the bookshelf with a flick of his wand. "Grindelwald, of course. I imagine recent events have made you feel like it is time to act, although I imagine it is still difficult for you. I have heard that the two of you were once . . . close friends."

_The way he says these things and brings them up – he KNOWS exactly what he is doing._

_Don't respond the way he wants you to. This isn't about Gellert. Tom only wants to get a rise out of you. Make sure he knows that will never happen._

"As you grow and experience all that life has to offer, you will find that relationships are fleeting. Or, perhaps you already know that? For having so many classmates in your inner circle, you certainly don't seem to be close to any of them."

"You know nothing of my . . . relationships. But you may be interested to hear what I know of yours."

"Tom, I have work to do. If you have nothing further of substance to discuss, then I must ask you to leave."

Tom stood and walked to the perch where Fawkes sat, watching them. Tom reached out to stroke the phoenix's feathers. Fawkes shifted away from Riddle; uncomfortable.

"So unique – the phoenix. I feel like I share a bond with your pet. When I was last in Diagon Alley, Ollivander told me one of this bird's feathers was used as my wand's core. Isn't that something?"

Tom stroked the bird's head. "Immortality. Rising from the ashes. It is something to aspire to, isn't it?"

"Tom, if there's nothing further-"

"No, nothing further, Professor. You will let me know if you find a copy of that book, won't you? After all, I imagine we will be colleagues soon. Won't that be something?"

Tom closed Dumbledore's office door behind him. Dumbledore raised his hands and set his enchantments.

Every time Dumbledore reviewed the memory of this encounter, he would be left with the same disturbed afterthoughts. He never should have let the boy leave his office. He should have grabbed him, taken him someplace no one could hear him scream, and killed him.


	103. Amplified

_"Magic is powerful, but it can be fickle. When you are young, it may come and go. It isn't unheard of to have a slow start."_

_"You're going to have to be patient and keep trying."_

_Why does this keep happening? What is wrong with me?_

_"You're making hundreds, maybe thousands, of micro-jumps."_

_Aaron didn't want to tell Mr. Weasley, but riding in cars made him sick._

_Today he felt like he was going to throw up before they left Glasgow._

_"It doesn't dissolve when you apparate. That's no small amount of magic that you're playing with."_

**31 August, 1984 – 11:49 PM**

Apart from the drone of the window-mounted air conditioning units located in the kitchen and bedrooms, the house off of Calder Street was quiet. Its occupants - a thirty-seven year old man who had lived in Glasgow his entire life and started fostering children in 1979, and an eleven year old boy who had been in the foster care system since he was surrendered by his mentally disturbed mother in 1973 – had gone to bed two hours earlier.

The bedroom at the top of the stairs wasn't much; a four meter by four meter space with a twin bed, nightstand, lamp, and an empty dresser. Clothes spilled out of the worn duffel bag on the floor by the window. The boy in the bed wasn't convinced he'd be there long enough to justify moving his things into the nearby drawers. His new guardian seemed competent, and had treated him well enough so far, but it had only been three weeks. There was more than enough time left for things to go wrong. At least he had his own bedroom, and a door that locked.

If Aaron had been awake, he would have seen it. Something . . . strange; the illusion of an empty parking lot, walking paths, and a dark lawn merging with his bedroom. Instead, he slept while his body – for instants at a time – was in two places at once.

**January 1991**

The room at the end of the hallway on the second floor of The Ministry of Magic – located past the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's armory and infirmary – had been a storage closet before Cassio had gotten ahold of it, or so Juliet had told Aaron. Aaron had never realized it existed. Cassio had commandeered the space to keep, at the time, Adelaide Burke from breathing down his neck, and to have somewhere to work where no one would be able to see what was on the maps and cryptic sheets of parchment he often kept suspended in the air.

Aaron felt the presence of heavy wards as he passed the infirmary; powerful magical energy that stuck to the air and walls around him. The wards flickered and let Aaron pass. Cassio was expecting him.

Light came from the edges of the doorway ahead. Aaron pushed it open.

He didn't know what he had been expecting, but this wasn't it. This was no storage closet. The room was bigger than the rest of The Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Much like the pantry at Hogwarts, the space had been altered – _manipulated_ – with enchantments to make it stretch beyond the limits it should have adhered to. Extensive walls of bookcases and locked cabinets were located on Aaron's left and right. In front of him stood Cassio – leaning against a massive oak desk. Detailed maps covered with flickering lights floated in the air behind him.

"Burke gave me one of the cubicles near her office when I first arrived," Cassio said, "but it didn't take me long to decide I needed more room if I was going to be able to accomplish anything."

Aaron looked at the maps behind Cassio's desk. "That's it, isn't it? The muggle-born trace."

Cassio nodded. "The damn thing has been more trouble than it's worth."

"Then why keep it?"

"Because the killers are using the same trace. If I deactivate it now, or destroy it like the protesters in the lobby would have me do, we would all be back in the dark."

Aaron walked around Cassio's desk until the maps surrounded him. "You don't feel wrong about tracking people like this?"

"It’s necessary. And it has continued to provide me with invaluable data."

Cassio raised his wand. The flickering lights faded and incandescent lines covered the maps, passed through the air, and pulled all of them together, creating a single, cohesive web wrapped around locations Aaron recognized; places ignited with red lights. The kill sites.

Cassio watched Aaron. "Tell me, as a wizard who can manipulate space, and who hopefully spent enough time in the muggle world to recognize a transportation network, what does this look like to you?"

It looked like the maps on the walls inside the London Underground. "Like they're all connected."

"Good," Cassio said. "Now, when you and Juliet captured Emily Carrow, you pulled a location off of her, didn't you? A room with stone walls? If the killers aren't using the floo network, and they aren't able to easily apparate from one side of the country to the other like you can, it means they are using something else to travel unseen-"

"The labyrinth." _And mirror portals._

"Maybe now you can start to appreciate why I was so excited when Juliet told me what you can do. You can do all of this _without_ a labyrinth, and with the added benefit of bypassing wards. It's . . . I've never heard of anyone else who can do what you can."

"You think I can use it to stop the killers."

Cassio said, "I think you can use it to do anything you want. And I would very much like to test your limits, so your abilities can be used to their full potential. Moody and you, I imagine, have been treating it like it's just an advanced form of apparition - but it's not. It's more than that. Let me show you."

Cassio picked up a stool and walked toward the door. He set it down and looked back at Aaron, who stood eight yards away. "I’ll need your wand."

"My wand?"

"You can do . . . whatever it is you can do, without a wand, correct?"

"Yes."

"I promise you'll get it right back, if my theory is correct."

Aaron took out his wand and took a step toward Cassio.

"Stay there," Cassio raised his wand, "just toss it in the air between us."

Aaron did. Cassio caught it with some kind of charm that cast a white glow over Aaron’s wand and pulled it across the room. He took the short piece of ebony out of the air, studied it for a moment, and set it on the stool.

"Take it without moving," Cassio said. "Open space and pull the wand to you."

"I don't think this will work like you think-"

Cassio took a few steps away from the stool and leaned against a cabinet, crossing his arms over his chest. "Humor me."

Aaron took off his ring and slipped it into his pocket. He pulled on the opposite end of the room and kept the rest of his layers suppressed. Something was different. The extents of the room changed. As soon as he started fucking with space, they appeared –

_Stretched._

Aaron could see where the original boundaries of the storage closet had been manipulated to create what the room was now. The layer was distorted and blurred. It was impossible to make out the edges. He had never tried manipulating space inside of the pantry at Hogwarts, but he imagined the effect would be similar.

Cassio called from the far end of the room, "I’d rather not stand around all day."

In response, Aaron duplicated the far side of Cassio's office, took the copy, and pulled until the layer with the stool layered over the space directly in front of him. He felt the far end of the room pull back on him and threaten to drag him through. Aaron focused on stabilizing the layer and keeping his left hand inside the limits of his position inside of the room as he reached forward. His arm blurred at the boundary of the layers – but he was able to reach through and pull hard enough on the space surrounding the stool and his wand to –

_CRACK_

Aaron's wand – and the stool – disappeared from the far end of the room and appeared _CRACK_ in front of him. The sudden movement made the stool fall over.

_holy shit_

Aaron picked up his wand, made sure it was intact, and set the stool back upright. When he pulled them through, he had never physically touched either one – he just bent space until they fell through the resulting void. 

Cassio walked back across the room. "That was . . . precisely what I was hoping for."

"How did you know I could do that?"

"Because, for the last time, you aren't appariting," Cassio said. "You're manipulating space. Moody and you both knew that much, but neither of you bothered to find out just what it meant and what else you could do. I decided it was time for me to interfere. When did you first notice something was . . . happening with you?"

The distorted room made Aaron feel unbalanced. He slid the ring back on. He wanted to say the summer he had first apparited - _jumped_ \- but he knew now that wasn’t it. The nausea, feeling sick, and seeing places when he was half asleep that he had thought for so long weren’t real -

"I think my body has been unstable for years."

”Have you ever . . . struggled with other forms of magic?”

"I could never use magic, not until all of this started."

Cassio eyed Aaron’s ring. "Was that when you started using iron to restrict your movement in space?"

_It was._

_And magic is more consistent for me when I'm wearing the damn-_

“Fuck,” Aaron said. "Moving in space has been using up all of my magical energy. Not only when I’m jumping - when I’m just existing."

Cassio nodded. "You've been manipulating space, at the expense of everything else, for years. If you hadn't have been . . . dislocating yourself, I don't think using magic would have ever been a problem for you."

Aaron let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and exasperation. "You've got to be shitting me."

Cassio set the stool back where he had taken it from and walked over to his desk. He grabbed a quill, parchment, and started making notes. "There were people who also thought I was . . . inadequate, until I discovered what I could do. I've more than proven to myself and others that I am anything but useless."

"Why is our magical energy so . . ."

"Focused? I've had a lot of time to think about it, and my conclusion is this. Most wizards and witches exhibit a general, somewhat even distribution of magical energy and end up well-rounded. Then, there are people like you and me – and metamorphmagi, animagi, and people who can use hand magic – where it is more concentrated."

"But why?"

"That's what I intend to find out. And, having access to your abilities, and being able to analyze what you can do, will be most helpful.”


	104. Saint Valentine's Day (Massacre)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excessive blood/gore (more than usual)

**February 1991**

No one could hear the choking sounds the young man made as he staggered through the crowded arrivals lobby, colliding with people who weren't paying attention and leaving a trail of blood on the marble tiles. He held his neck with both hands, trying to keep himself from bleeding out. He couldn't scream. There was too much blood, and his vocal cords had been severed when his throat was torn open.

He collapsed, still clutching his neck. Someone tripped over him and kept walking, too preoccupied to notice why the young man was on the floor. Blood leaked through his shaking fingers, coating his nails and running down his arms. More ran into his eyes. It came from the lines that had been carved into his forehead.

A wizard walking toward a fireplace with a handful of floo powder saw the blood – smeared across the floor where others had stepped in it – and the choking young man with panicked eyes. He ran to him, dropped to his knees, and grabbed the young man, mixing floo powder with crimson fluid. An older woman saw them – realized what was happening – and screamed.

The lobby erupted in chaos.

A semi-conscious part of the dying young man realized that the people who held him were trying to save him. A stranger pulled off her scarf and pressed it against his slashed neck. The man who had first grabbed him screamed healing and bandaging spells. It was too late. The gathered crowd held hands over their mouths, and watched the young man shudder and die.

As he did, screams came from the opposite end of the arrivals lobby. A young woman with an identical fatal wound and mutilated forehead reached for people, choking through sprays of blood. She collapsed and died before she hit the floor; before anyone could catch her.

Two more people – an older woman and another young man – seemed to appear from nowhere. The old woman collapsed on the floor into a spreading pool of her own blood. Her throat had been torn almost the entire way through. The young wizard tried to reach for the panicked people around him. His blood-covered hands fell away from his partially-rent neck as he died on the floor, surrounded by screaming and yelling witches and wizards. 

Crowds ran for the fireplaces to escape the carnage. No one knew where the victims were coming from, or if the killers were inside the lobby with them.

A young witch slipped in a pool of blood and ran to cross the boundary where she could apparate. She disapparated –

\- and appeared _CRACK_ outside the window of Purge and Dowse, LTD. She tumbled through the front window and ran into St. Mungo's, leaving a trail of bloody footprints on the floor. She grabbed the first healer she saw and screamed at him, trying to form words for what was happening at the Ministry. She yelled at the Welcome Witch, at the healer, and to anyone in earshot. The Ministry. In the arrivals lobby, for _Merlin's sake_ , inside of the arrivals lobby. People are dying.

She apparited the healer back to The Ministry before he could stop her.

The wizard who had grabbed the first young man – his name was Nicodemus Gaunt - was covered in blood that wasn't his. He ran down the stone staircase to the second floor, passed the hallway that led to his office, and threw open the doors of The Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The cubicles were empty. Most of them looked abandoned. He ran past empty offices, screaming for someone to answer him. 

_No, no, where are the Aurors?_

No one was there. He ran to Madam Bones' office. It was enchanted with wards that kept the door sealed shut. He looked through the glass windows. The room was dark; Bones wasn't there.

_WHERE IS SHE? WHERE ARE THE AURORS?_

He left the department and ran back toward his office, passed it, and almost broke the doorknob shoving open Arthur Weasley's office door.

Arthur held his satchel and lunch pail, about to leave for the night.

"Arthur, oh, the damn noise-blocking charms. You don't know. There are people dying in the arrivals lobby! Muggle-borns, I think! Just the way you always hear about with their throats cut open and the markings on their foreheads. The Aurors – no one is here," Arthur dropped his satchel and lunch pail, "the whole department is deserted. There's no time for owls, how do we tell the Aurors?"

"I can apparate to Alastor Moody's flat, but not from here."

Arthur ran down the hallway behind Nicodemus. They shoved past an older man who worked in Muggle Relations and took the stone staircase up to the lobby. They ran past the boundaries of the noise-blocking charms, into the screams of panic.

Arthur stopped. _Merlin's –_

There had to be eight, nine bodies on the floor. Blood had been sprayed across the room like paint. A still-alive woman clutched her torn throat to his right. The healer leaning over her could do nothing.

Arthur ran across the tiles that marked the allowable apparition limits. Determined and deliberate, he disapparated –

\- and appeared _CRACK_ in Alastor Moody's living room. Arthur grabbed Moody and apparited him back to the arrivals lobby before the old Auror could set down his glass of scotch, or get off his couch.

Moody saw the carnage and dropped his glass. There had to be eleven bodies, maybe more, and more of the victims were still _holy Merlin they're_ alive.

Moody grabbed Arthur. "When?!"

"I don't know-"

"Arthur, where did they come from?!"

Moody ran to the nearest victim who was still alive, with a healer trying to patch together his _they're all_ torn _muggle-borns_ throat. 

Moody – now frantic – scanned the lobby with both eyes. Witches and wizards held each other and yelled. Everything was covered in blood. There were more bodies – and more dying muggle-borns – than healers. Moody stepped over bodies. They were strewn all over the lobby. Had they come out of the fireplaces? Moody grabbed a healer who just lost her patient.

"Where are they coming from?! Were they slaughtered in the lobby?!"

"No, they have been appearing, just-"

"Appariting?"

"No, just . . . falling and stepping – staggering - out of the air."

_That's not possible without-_

Another victim appeared fifteen feet from where they stood; materializing from nothing and falling forward. The healer ran to her.

It _wasn't_ apparition. The victims had passed through mirror portals.

Moody disapparated –

\- and appeared in Juliet's flat. She was at her desk, leaning over stacks of parchment and writing. She heard Moody arrive before she saw him.

"Fuck," she said, seeing his face, "what happened?"

"Dying muggle-borns are appearing at The Ministry," Moody said.

"What?"

"Come on."

Juliet pushed her chair back, stood, and grabbed her wand off the desk.

"That won't help." Moody grabbed her.

_CRACK_

They appeared in the arrivals lobby.

Juliet saw the bodies and the half-alive victims; the streaks and smears of blood covering the walls, the columns, the marble, and _fuck_ the people. Her mouth gaped.

She didn't finish. She ran to the closest body, checked for a pulse – for anything, and left it cold on the floor. She looked around, frantic, with her wand still raised. She ran to the nearest choking victim and grabbed his head.

The edges of the old man's memories collapsed around her. Juliet had to pull out of his head as he died. She choked on the remembered taste of blood and the sense of oxygen deprivation.

_That was too CLOSE_

Moody pushed through a crowd of scared, horrified people surrounded by corpses. He pulled a tattered piece of heavily enchanted black parchment out of his coat, pressed it against a column, and _Accio quill and ink pot_ summoned something to write with. The quill and ink lifted off a counter at the Information Desk and floated –

_faster Accio quill and ink CITIUS_

\- came flying at his head. He raised his wand, halted the items in the air, grabbed the quill, dipped it in the ink, and wrote on the parchment. It didn't matter that he couldn't see the words himself.

_"MINISTRY ARRIVALS LOBBY. NOW, AARON."_

Moody dropped the quill on the floor, shoved the parchment back into his coat, and left the ink pot hovering in the air. He had to seal off the arrivals lobby to keep witnesses from fleeing and keep more people from arriving through the fireplaces, but there wasn't anything he could do to stop the influx of bodies. If he cast wards to prevent mirror portal travel - complicated spells they had not had to use in almost half a century - the victims could be trapped between the portals and the lobby; left to die alone in a vacuum.

Juliet scrambled to a woman who had just appeared on her left, materializing out of the air; choking. She grabbed the woman, used the bandaging charm, and pressed her hands against the woman's neck, trying to stop the blood. It sprayed down Juliet's arms and across her face. The woman choked through it and looked up at Juliet.

_She's so frightened. Fuck, don't let her die on the floor like this._

Juliet kept her hands on the woman's neck, realizing how futile her efforts were. The flesh had been mutilated; torn in a rough pattern with a dull blade. The killers wanted a slower death; they wanted everyone in the lobby to watch these people die.

A healer with glowing, searing hot hands reached for the woman's neck. Juliet let the healer take over and cradled the woman against her body. She saw life left in the woman's eyes and placed her hands on the woman's head.

Juliet pushed through the woman's mind – past her wedding day, the birth of a child, the birth of another child, and the woman laughing with a group of friends, watching their children play on a lawn. The fading light of death encroached on the memories; destroying them. Juliet danced on the edges until she saw a hooded figure with a mask. She watched the killer tear through the woman's throat. Where were they? Juliet saw brick walls and dirt-covered windows – they could be anywhere.

The edges of the memory compressed. Juliet couldn't tell where the woman was, but she watched –

\- as the hooded figure pushed the woman backwards. She fell _through a mirror portal_ and appeared in the arrivals lobby.

The memory distorted. Juliet looked for a happy memory to leave the woman with – but this was all that was left. The darkness pulled at Juliet. 

Juliet opened her eyes, pulled her hands off the dead woman's head, and threw up on the marble floor. The healer lifted the woman's body off Juliet. Juliet leaned over and dry-heaved.

_CRACK_

The faded words from Moody's summons were still embossed on Aaron's leather watch band as he appeared in the arrivals lobby; into the chaos of a massacre.

_blood_

That's what he had smelled before he jumped from The Great Hall. It was everywhere. And the screams and yelling he had heard all made horrible, vivid sense. There had to be twenty, thirty bodies. Two were on his left – necks torn open and foreheads mutilated.

_not all of them they can't all be_

All of them _were_ muggle-born; all killed in the now customary fashion.

Aaron pulled his Hogwarts robe over his head, threw it on the floor, and ran to Juliet.

"What happened?"

Juliet was covered in blood – it was all over her face, chest, and arms. It was in her hair and smeared across her forehead. None of it was hers. "They all appeared here; pushed through goddamn mirror portals right into the lobby. We have no idea where they all came from, or how three killers were able to slaughter this many at once. This is insane."

Another victim materialized not ten feet from where they stood.

Juliet yelled at Aaron, "Get a goddamn location off of him before he's dead!"

Aaron grabbed the _shit he's dying his throat Jesus Christ_ man before he collapsed. He pressed his hands against the man's throat and winced as his locations layered over the room. A Quidditch pitch. A muggle-looking pub. An office with a printer, cubicles, staplers, and wire trash cans. A one bedroom flat with a light on over the kitchen sink and dirty dishes on the counter. 

How was he supposed to know where the shit this guy was attacked?

Aaron pulled on the man's locations, looking for blood on the ground; for anyone who looked like one of the killers. He pulled on the layers and space until –

He saw Diagon Alley. He saw bodies and heard screaming in Diagon Alley. 

Aaron pushed against the layers to keep himself in the arrivals lobby. He couldn't leave yet. His hands were still pressed against the man's neck, trying to keep him alive. The man choked.

"Come on," Aaron said. "Just look at me. Please just keep looking at me."

The man's eyes – terrified – fixed on Aaron. His neck felt _like I'm not holding anything together_ like his windpipe was intact, but not much else. The man's blood ran between Aaron's fingers and down his arms, across the man's chest and onto the floor.

"That's good, just stay conscious the healers are here. They're coming."

Aaron realized the man's eyes were open, and still fixed on his, but he wasn't choking anymore. The blood loss slowed – the vital fluid no longer driven by his heart.

_No, come on._

Aaron looked around. Where were the healers?

There were dozens of healers, standing over dozens of dying people who had appeared at the same time as the man Aaron held. There weren't enough of them. No one was coming.

Juliet used the levitation charm to lift the dead man off Aaron's lap. She lowered the body to the floor.

Blood ran down Aaron's arms. "There's more. In Diagon Alley."

"Is that where he was killed?"

Aaron was still on the floor. "I don't know."

Juliet pulled Aaron to his feet. "Take me."

Aaron pulled them out of the arrivals lobby and into Diagon Alley. They appeared in the midst of a scene much like the one at The Ministry. Bodies lay in the street with opened necks and marked foreheads, shadowed by the setting sun. Healers tried – in vain – to save victims who were still alive. Shopkeepers had sheltered people inside their stores when the victims started to appear. People gawked through open doorways and windows. Others tried to save the victims who were still alive.

"It's a massacre," Aaron said.

"I need you to get anything you can off these people," Juliet said. "If we have to jump to every location you pull, then we will."

She looked at him. "Aaron? Don't go into shock on me or some shit."

He could still see all of the layers he pulled off the man who had died in his lap, and now he saw Juliet's flat, a living room and a three year old girl coloring on a carpeted floor, and the Ravenclaw common room. And he still saw the arrivals lobby. Sudden clips of noise – voices and screaming - combined with the smell of blood.

Aaron shoved the layers out of his perception until all he saw was Diagon Alley. He took out his wand. "I'm fine."

Juliet ran toward a choking victim propped against the doorway of Flourish and Blotts.

A healer – like the ones in the arrivals lobby – tried to save the old man. Aaron touched his shoulder –

A garden with fruit trees. A cellar filled with a collection of wines the dying man would never drink. A restaurant where a band played.

_come on where were you_

A bicycle flipped over on a path in the middle of a lamp-lit park. Its tires still turned. Whatever was in the basket had been spilled all over the gravel, and there was blood mixed in the -

Aaron let go of the man. "Got it."

Juliet grabbed Aaron's arm.

They appeared by the overturned bicycle, standing in a mixture of gravel and blood. No one else was there.

"Where are we?"

Aaron had started to get a vague feel for distance based on if he felt at all fatigued after a jump. He wasn't fatigued. "Not in London. Not as far as Edinburgh."

Juliet cast an Archimedes Field, looking for the mirror portal the man had been thrown into after he was attacked. She walked fast, following the flickering field. Nothing was there. The mirror portal had been moved, or destroyed.

Aaron said, "None of the victims were . . . paralyzed, not when they appeared."

"No. From what I saw in one of the victim's minds, it was quick. The killers didn’t bother using _Petrificus Totalus._ The victims were ambushed and their throats were cut open – just enough to kill them slowly – before they were pushed through mirror portals. This was planned and coordinated."

Juliet let the field dissolve. "Get us back. We need to try somewhere else."

Aaron took Juliet's arm and pulled them back into Diagon Alley.

There were more bodies. Juliet knelt down and grabbed the head of the closest victim who was still alive. Aaron touched the woman's arm.

A bedroom filled with bookshelves and plants. A balcony with wicker chairs. 

The layers distorted as the woman died. There was nothing else.

Juliet pulled away from the dead woman and retched on the cobblestone. She was staying in the victims’ heads too long and making herself sick.

Aaron ran across the alley, pushing his way through people to get to a dying muggle-born who wasn't much older than he was. Two healers pressed glowing hands against her throat, but the young woman had already lost most of her blood.

Aaron touched her shoulder, just for a second.

Blood covered the walls and sink of a single-stall bathroom. Aaron didn't wait for Juliet to get out of the woman's head – he pulled himself through.

Music and a cacophony of voices came from the other side of the locked bathroom door. Muggle music. That grunge shit from The States. Someone – a drunk woman, by the sound of it – pounded on the door.

"Michelle? Are you alright in there? I shouldn't have let you take that last shot, yeah? Fucking Valentine's Day. Fuck Peter, alright? Fuck that daft arsehole."

 _Is this a pub?_ It seemed like a pub.

Aaron had never cast an Archimedes Field before, but he didn't need to. The dirty mirror above the sink was shattered. Blood dripped from the remaining fragments that hung in the frame and coated the shards in the sink. He didn't touch any of it.

The woman knocked on the door again. "Come on, love, open the door! I don't care if you're losing your dinner; I'll hold your hair back."

He couldn't let any muggles find the murder scene – or the broken mirror portal. And he had to try to find the killer without making the muggles lose their shit. 

Aaron looked up - and saw an automatic fire sprinkler. He raised his wand and cast _Incendio._

The fire alarm went off and water sprayed over Aaron's body, washing some of the blood off his face and arms. The music on the other side of the door stopped. People yelled and – he hoped – were leaving the building, or were at least too caught up in his distraction to notice if he came out of the woman's bathroom wearing clothes soaked with blood.

"Michelle! Honey, that's the fire alarm! Come on!"

 _Shit._ She wasn't going to leave without her friend.

Aaron pulled the door open and _Obliviate_ raised his wand.

The drunk woman was the same age as her dying _probably dead now_ friend in Diagon Alley. "Michelle went home. You were on your way out the door, too. And you never saw me.”

Aaron closed the bathroom door behind him and hit it with an enchantment to keep it sealed shut. The drunk woman staggered through the pub, following the rest of the patrons. Water sprayed over the bar, tables, and stools. 

Aaron looked for anything – anyone – but everyone he saw appeared muggle. Had any of them seen the killer? Would it matter if they had? They knew who the killers were. They had all their names and faces

Or did they?

Aaron pushed through the crowd onto the dark street.

"Oi, ya see that?"

"Bloody hell, what is it?"

"Some kinda spotlight?"

"How drunk are ya, mate? That's a fuckin' _snake_."

Aaron took the stairs up to the street and turned to see whatever the fuck the muggles were looking and pointing at. Something had ignited the sky.

Aaron had never seen The Dark Mark before. All he knew was that there was a glowing, smoke-like skull and a winding, hissing snake in the air above a muggle street, neighborhood, and pub.

In Diagon Alley, Juliet pulled herself out of another victim's head in time to see the same thing – The Dark Mark – ignite the air above Diagon Alley. People around her pointed and screamed. Juliet had only ever seen The Dark Mark in _Prophet_ articles during the war, when she was still in school. As far as she knew, it hadn't been seen cast into the sky like this since 1981.

A young man apparited into the arrivals lobby, screaming that he had seen The Dark Mark over London. Moody grabbed him and made him apparate them to wherever he had come from.

_CRACK_

They appeared on the balcony of the young wizard's flat. Moody looked out, but the young man pulled him around to the opposite side of the balcony.

_No._

_It’s not possible. There’s no more Death Eaters._

_Voldemort is dead._

None of that seemed to matter. Dark Marks filled the London sky.


	105. Body Count

**February 1991**

The weight of the blood saturating the wanted posters hanging in the arrivals lobby had left the sheets of faded parchment sagging, torn, and folded over on themselves; rendering the faces of Adesh Selwyn, Renee Gaunt, and Theshan Nott unrecognizable. Alastor Moody grabbed one off a column as he walked past. He shredded it and let the pieces fall on the floor.

Two hours after the last victim had died in a spreading mess of her own blood, custodial witches, wizards, and Ministry-owned house elves were still at it; re-casting cleaning spells and attempting to scour the desecrated lobby. It would take them four days to eliminate the smell of heavy, wet iron and copper that clung to the marble.

The Ministry was locked down. Moody had cut the building off from the Floo Network and cast additional wards to prevent anyone who wasn't actively cleaning blood off of the walls, an employee of The Department of Magical Law Enforcement – or named Fudge – from appariting inside the lobby. The people who weren't on his list of approved visitors had been added to a witness list along with their contact information and sent on one-way fireplace trips to the destinations of their choice. He would have Juliet and Cassio interview witnesses after they contained the rest of this disaster.

The air separated as Juliet appeared, sending an echo across the lobby. She walked toward Moody. Her clothes were torn and covered with dried blood. Moody didn't see a future where everyone involved in the massacre didn't burn everything they had worn today.

He met Juliet in front of the bodies – _FIFTY of them_ – laid in a row in front of a wall of dark fireplaces. Each corpse was wrapped to the chin in black canvass. The faces, each one marred with the all too familiar _M_ , were left exposed for future identification. 

"Where is your brother?"

"I tasked him with expanding the freezing chamber at Florean Fortescue's so we'd have a place to keep the twenty-eight bodies currently lining the cobblestone along Diagon Alley."

"I want him with Parkinson and Avery as soon as he's done. We've got a city full of muggles who saw Dark Marks, and he's our memory savant."

"I told him to apparate here as soon as he's finished," Juliet said. "It won't take him much longer, but it's too late to keep the Dark Mark sightings from the muggles, Moody. It's all over BBC London. Our best option at this point is to put someone in Muggle Relations on it and get them to spin it as a special display of anti-Valentine's Day fireworks or some shit."

"That will work until the muggle police realize these special fucked up fireworks correspond to murder scenes."

Aaron appeared at the far end of the row of bodies, stepping through space with a muted _crack_. Anyone who wasn't familiar with his usual gait wouldn't have noticed him stagger and correct his steps to stay on his feet, but Moody saw it. Aaron had been jumping through space for hours, checking all the locations he had pulled off the victims. When that had been done, and he hadn't found much apart from blood-covered sidewalks, rooms, hallways, stairwells – and a lot of broken glass - Moody told him to track down the exact location of every Dark Mark that had been cast in the sky to find the rest of the kill sites.

Aaron handed Moody a folded piece of parchment and wiped what Moody assumed was his usual mouthful of saliva and bile off his face. He pulled his ring out of his pocket and pulled it over a crimson-stained finger.

Moody opened the parchment. The map of London was marked with spots of red ink. Aaron had made additional notes wherever there was room to write – his smudged, south-paw handwriting covered the Thames, Hyde Park, and the Camberwell neighborhood.

"Am I reading this right? There were eighty of them? Not seventy-eight?"

Aaron nodded. "There was one at each kill site. One over Diagon Alley. And one over The Ministry."

"Did anyone see whoever cast these Dark Marks?"

"If they did, they weren't around to tell me about it."

_CRACK_

Madam Bones appeared at the far end of the lobby, within the usual boundaries reserved for apparition. Her heels clicked across the marble as she walked to where Moody stood with his protégés.

"Tell me, Alastor," she called across the room, "have the Death Eaters returned and entwined themselves with our muggle-born killers?"

"I don't know," Moody said. "It sure seems that way based on what we saw tonight. I know it took a lot more than three killers to commit the acts we witnessed."

"Voldemort has been dead for a nearly a decade," Madam Bones said, "but it seems his spirit lives on in his surviving followers; those we failed to execute or sentence to Azkaban. The question we need to ask ourselves now, and the one we have to answer, is why they chose today to make their existence known."

"Apart from being sociopaths, I don't think they have much in the way of significant timing," Juliet said.

"I agree with that assessment," Bones said, "but we need to ensure that there isn't more going on that we are not aware of. We must confirm that this is no more than the hopeless dream of people who believe they still serve a long-dead maniac."

"If killing seventy-eight muggle-borns in less than an hour is hopeless, god help us if they act with any fucking optimism."

Madam Bones looked at Juliet. "Ms. Walker, know that I share the same sentiments."

She addressed Moody. "There's also the unsettling problem of the use of mirror portals. We haven't seen mirror portals used to such an extent since Grindelwald was tearing his way across Europe with dark magic."

"Mirror portals don't use dark magic," Aaron said. "They're complicated and unstable, but they don't use blood spells or sacrifices, and it isn't impossible to find documented details and processes for how to create one. It's difficult, dangerous, and very . . . energy consuming, but making one obviously isn’t a lost art.”

Madam Bones looked at him. "And who are you?"

"He's the one who can apparate regardless of wards," Moody said.

"Ah, yes, Aaron, isn't it? Moody has told me about you, but neglected to ever provide me with your photograph, as requested. I reviewed your O.W.L. results, and the results of the aptitude and character tests you took last year, as well."

"Then you already know everything you need to know about me," Aaron said.

Madam Bones kept her gaze on Aaron's face. "I very much doubt that, son."

Another _CRACK_ echoed across the lobby. Cornelius Fudge appeared and brushed Merlin knew what off of his coat. Moody noticed the motions seemed to be his nervous habit. He had kept doing it all through his acceptance speech.

Fudge approached the row of bodies and the others. "I'd like an update on what you've discovered."

Juliet said, "We've discovered that the killers who have been slaughtering my kind since 1985 are not only still very active, but have also integrated themselves with what seems to be remnants of Voldemort's flunkies."

"I was under the impression that progress had been made in the muggle-born killings," Fudge said. "Are you telling me otherwise?"

"Otherwise is all over the floor around you, Minister," Juliet said.

Fudge looked at Moody. "She's a delight. Is she one of yours?"

"She's mine."

Fudge took a handkerchief out of his pocket and held it over his mouth and nose. He bent down and studied the nearest victim. "Clearly, you are all in over your heads, and have been for years. I'd like to speak with the other Aurors."

"I've got three more cleaning up the carnage left in the wake of this slaughter and altering muggle memories," Moody said. "Apart from them, there's four or five Aurors who are now in their seventies and unable to apparate, much less hold a wand in their arthritic fingers, if you'd like to visit them at their homes."

"That's all? Why aren't there more of you?"

"It seems we've circled back to the topic of Voldemort," Madam Bones said.

"I don't understand. The war was devastating, yes, but it’s been almost ten years now. Haven't you been recruiting?"

Aaron said, "Technically, that's how I got here."

Fudge looked Aaron up and down. "Have you even taken your damn N.E.W.T.s yet?"

"Give me a few months," Aaron said.

"We can't pull Aurors out of thin air, despite the magic available to all of us," Madam Bones said.

"No, you go out and you hire some-"

"Ministry employees – security agents and office workers – are a Knut a dragon's lair full," Madam Bones said. "It takes a different type of witch, or wizard, to make an Auror, Minister. We've had hundreds of applicants since the end of the war, but most don't have the grades, or the grit, to survive Auror training."

"Then lower your standards and get me more Aurors. If we had more-"

"If your goal is only a greater numbers of Aurors, than you will end up with more bodies, not less. The only dilemma worse than not having enough Aurors is bringing in witches and wizards who shouldn't be Aurors, and watching them go mad during training and die in the field. You call them standards, I say they save lives."

"Fine," Fudge said, "don't use students and young wizards. Recruit the entire Wizengamot to help you, if that's what it takes."

"Right," Juliet said, "a bunch of decrepit old bigots. That will be a real delight."

"The Wizengamot, young witch, aren't all bigots. If you are so against bringing in anyone you don't trust to support your muggle-born agenda, use your Auror resources and find people you can trust. Find Albus Dumbledore. He will fight this battle for you."

Madam Bones and Moody remained silent. Aaron looked at the wall behind Fudge. Juliet picked blood out from beneath her fingernails.

"I know he's been out of the public light for years, but Dumbledore will fight for muggle-borns. He's gone up against worse than the Death Eaters, for Merlin's sake."

"Tell him, Alastor," Madam Bones said.

Moody said, "Albus Dumbledore is sitting in Azkaban. He's been there since April of 1989."

"You can't be serious."

"Alastor is telling you the truth," Madam Bones said. "Albus Dumbledore was involved in the killing of a fellow Wizengamot member."

"Involved? He executed Marcus Carrow in a goddamn abandoned underground station," Moody said.

"I should have been told about this the first day that I was appointed Minister of Magic."

"It is on the agenda for the Wizengamot meeting on the morning of the eighteenth," Madam Bones said.

"Are you telling me that Albus Dumbledore has been sitting in Azkaban awaiting a fair and just trail for almost two years?"

"Minister Bagnold and my predecessor, Adelaide Burke, were made aware of the situation," Madam Bones said. "However, I am afraid Burke's sudden decline into insanity, and Bagnold's apathy and retirement, pushed the matter of Dumbledore's trail out much further than it should have been."

"To the point of cruelty, I am sure," Fudge said. He wiped his forehead with the handkerchief. "I had hoped, when I took my appointment as Minister for Magic, that I would find competence among my Ministry colleagues, at the very least. As I have not found such, I expect you to all work to impress me and capture the remainder of the killers. I would also like you to delve into the problem of the resurgence of the Death Eaters, if that is what is happening here. And, as for Albus Dumbledore, I see his life has been left in incompetent hands long enough; therefore, I will personally see to the matter of his fate."


	106. I Find it Hard to Tell You; I Find it Hard to Take

**February 1991**

Invisible veils of noise-blocking charms kept the sounds of clanging dishes from ascending the stone staircase and reaching The Great Hall, maintaining the boundaries between the students and staff, and the hired and indentured help. Eni avoided clusters of house elves as she walked into the kitchen. The scantily-clad creatures reached above their heads to take floating platters, baskets, mugs, and used utensils out of the air. Their brand of magic was useful for transporting each meal; making food appear and vanish from the house and staff tables in the room above three times a day.

Eni had spent her late afternoon free period before Defense Against the Dark Arts baking, but she hadn't worked in the kitchen since December. She'd kept herself busy in the library with Madam Pince – cataloguing books and cleaning shelves – and had filled up the rest of her work hours by undertaking the task of preparing the greenhouse for the upcoming spring rotation with Professor Sprout, avoiding the kitchen whenever food was being prepared, served, or cleaned-up.

The reason for Eni's absence – Lara - looked up as Eni walked past the sinks and preparation stations.

_Shit_

She should have grabbed her Valentine's Day treat for Lee right after class instead of waiting until after dinner.

Lara said, "I haven't seen you down here in a while, but I keep finding assortments of baked goods."

Eni said, "I've made arrangements for other work."

"So McGonagall has told me." Lara wrapped up pieces of leftover roast chicken and vegetables to take home for Adam. "I did see you at my house the night of the meeting; standing in the hallway. I was hoping you'd stay and hear everything we had to say before you ran back out into the snow."

"I heard enough," Eni said. She took a basket off a shelf and filled it with the banana bread she had left on the wire racks. "Lee told me about the train."

"I know," Lara said. "She told me, and I found the picture frame you left shattered on my floor."

"I should have let myself lose control a little more and left you with more broken housewares. God forbid I unleash destructive magic on you for a change."

"Eni-"

"No, Lara, all this time, and you never told me. Lee had to do it for you."

House elves shuffled past, carrying stacks of clean dishes.

Lara took Eni's arm and directed her into the pantry. She raised her wand, sealed the door shut, and added a noise-blocking charm.

Eni pulled herself out of Lara's light grip. "Don't ever touch me again. I don't care how afraid you are that someone will overhear us talking about what you did. Maybe someone should."

"Eni, I know you feel like I-"

"Are you even remorseful about it anymore?"

Lara took a step closer to Eni. "When it happened, you were a _child_. You were the little girl who invaded my kitchen in the middle of the night, pulled stools up to the tables to stand on, and asked if you could raid my pantry. You were this brilliant kid I wanted to pick up, tickle, and spin around in the damn courtyard."

Lara looked down and shook her head. "I couldn't tell you then, Eni. I . . . I was nowhere near being able to talk about what I had been involved with and the pain I had caused, with myself or anyone else."

Lara took her wand and aimed it at the shelves above her head. She muttered _Accio alcohol_ under her breath. A bottle lifted off a shelf twenty feet above and floated down. Lara took the bourbon out of the air, pulled out the cork, and took a drink. "You want to know if I'm remorseful?"

Lara handed the bottle to Eni. "I don't know if I can say anything that will make you feel any better about how much I ruined your life and the lives of your friends, or make myself feel like I shouldn't have been taken to Azkaban for having a hand in a shit plan that resulted in five dead kids. I don't think I can convey just how much I've hated myself for it. Do you want to hear that I spend more time drinking and hating myself than being there for Adam? Or, maybe you need to know I tried to kill myself three weeks after the train disaster and I was screaming and shoving Adam off me when he stopped me."

"Chikusho." Eni upended the bottle and took a drink.

"No one was supposed to die on the train. We had planned on covering it with mud to make a statement. People – pure-bloods, half-bloods, all of them – were supposed to see it in Manchester, Birmingham, and London, and they were supposed to feel like they weren't in control for once, like the people they saw as less-than had some control in their world and they were all supposed to. I don't even know anymore, treat us with more respect or some shit."

Eni passed the bottle back to Lara. She took another drink and wiped her mouth. "All we did was prove to ourselves that they were right – that we don't have any control. We destroyed it, like a bunch of mudbloods."

Eni leaned back against a stack of crates. "When Lee told me what you were all doing in your house that night, I was _excited_ , Lara. I want to fight. I'm tired of doing nothing while our kind are killed and treated like shit in this world. I want to make them get rid of the muggle-born trace, and I want a muggle-born on the Wizengamot. Well, more than that. I want a damn muggle-born Minister for Magic."

"We want to make all of that happen, Eni. We're just . . . lost ourselves, and realizing how right they all are. We don't have any power in this world. It doesn't matter how much we protest or try to force their hands or make signs or paint our bodies with mud. Disrupting what they have – the status quo that has sat in that dungeon for centuries – is going to take more, and we don't know how to do that without going to war and hurting more people on both sides."

Lara handed the bottle back to Eni. "If you want to tell people what I've done, what I was involved with, I won't pretend I can stop you. I should have to face more consequences for what happened and give the families who lost their children someone to take out their grief on."

Eni took the cork from Lara and pushed it into the neck of the bottle without taking another drink. She set it on one of the crates. "If any of the people in power ever found out – if they tried you – you'd be sent to Azkaban and used as an example of how our kind should be monitored and locked-up as soon as we step out of line. So, no, I won't be sending an owl to the damn _Prophet_ , but you can't expect me to keep this from my friends; from the people who were on the train."

The pantry door moved, like someone was trying to break through Lara's enchantments.

"I understand, Eni," Lara said. "They should know."

Lara raised her wand and removed the enchantments on the door. 

Lee shoved the door open and fell into Lara. She wrapped her arms around her and Eni noticed _oh shit_ how shaken she was. "I hoped you were down here. I couldn't remember if you and Adam had gone somewhere for the holiday or-"

Lara said, "Lee, what's wrong?"

Lee pulled herself out of Lara's arms and hugged Eni. She held her tight against her body. "I am so glad we didn't go to London tonight for that show like we had talked about."

"What happened?"

"Oh, you don't know, how could you down here? I took the Floo Network to mum's after my shift at the Three Broomsticks. I wanted to check on her, since it's the holiday and she always spends it alone – fucking stupid day. We were in the kitchen and her friend who works at The Ministry apparated into mum's living room without warning. And, it's so awful – there have been more killings. Bodies – thirty, forty, she didn't know – it's bad – are in the arrivals lobby at The Ministry. All muggle-borns. Some of them were alive at first, but they bled out before anyone could save them."

_my god_

Lara managed, "Jesus Christ."

"Who was killed, Lee, do they have any names?"

"No, there's no names, it all just happened; it might still be happening. I came back right away to make sure you were both safe."

Lara said, "Has anyone from The Ministry-"

"No one knows. They've locked The Ministry down."

* * *

Word of the killings had reached the rest of Hogwarts. Loud voices and frantic yelling came from the hallways and corridors. Students shoved past each other – desperate to get out of the castle and get to Hogsmeade so they could take the Floo Network and check on their muggle-born friends and family members – but they found that the doors had been sealed shut. Students took out their wands and attempted to break the enchantments. It was futile.

McGonagall appeared in the midst of the chaos. She stood on the steps leading to The Great hall and raised her wand, sending fireworks into the air to get the attention of her charges. The detonations echoed off the stone walls. "Everyone, I must ask that you all remain calm."

McGonagall added an amplification charm to her voice. "I know you are all desperate for word on your muggle-born family members and friends. I am desperate as well."

A fifth year girl yelled, "Then let us leave!"

"You can't keep us locked inside here with something like this-"

"That, Mister Acworth, is precisely what myself, and the rest of my staff, intend to do."

Professor Sprout joined McGonagall on the steps. Filch and Hagrid came out of The Great Hall and joined them, followed by Professor Flitwick and Professor Trelawney.

Shouts of protest erupted from the students.

"The last thing anyone in this room needs," McGonagall said, "is to travel home and find, through, I fear, horrific means, that their loved one has been counted among the dead, or to fall out of a fireplace into the path of one of the killers. I have therefore sealed off Hogwarts and told the business owners in Hogsmeade to remove their fireplaces from the Floo Network until we have more information about this horrific sequence of events. My goal is to keep each one of you safe, and alive, so when your loved ones send word, you are here to receive it. I know the fear and panic you are all feeling – I myself have muggle-born friends in London. I promise the owls will come."

Professor Flitwick added, "Should any of you find . . . that someone you love has been taken from you tonight, myself and the rest of the faculty intend to be here for you. We are not leaving any of you alone. We must all hope that our muggle-born friends and family members are safe, as so many of them have remained these past six years, despite the horrific killings that have taken place in our world."

Lara was already heading for the One-Eyed Witch Passage. Eni and Lee followed her, leaving behind the crowds of still-protesting students.

A head of changing hair walked toward them; colors shifting from orange to brown to blue with anxiety and agitation. 

"Don't bother," Tonks said, "isn't worth your wand shakes; McGonagall and the lot of 'em have already sealed the passageway. Moronic of us to think they didn't know about it, seeing as they were all students here themselves."

Lara decided to try anyway and walked past Tonks, leaving the younger witches behind her in the corridor. She wasn’t a student. No one could hold her in the castle against her will.

Tonks pulled Eni into a hug as soon as she was in range. "I couldn't remember if you'd gone off somewhere tonight. I was right worried about you!"

"I'm fine," Eni said, "what about Maddison?"

"I watched her go off to hole up in the Slytherin common room. She's not gonna lose any sleep over this. Have you seen Aaron?"

_Shit, that's right. He's not here._

Eni said, "I saw him leave the hall in the middle of dinner."

"I bet the Aurors called him in when it started," Tonks said. "I hate him being out there with these wankers killing muggle-borns."

Lee said, "He'll be alright." 

"He damn well better be, or I'll rescind my Auror application and tell him it's all his fault," Tonks said. "I was hoping he was here. I've got to get out of this bloody castle and find a way home. I don't want to think about my dad being one of them, but with so many muggle-borns dead tonight, fuck Merlin's tits, I have to know."

"Where's Charlie?" Eni asked. "He's always getting himself out of this place after curfew. He'll know a way."

"Haven't seen him, or the twins," Tonks said.

"Right," Eni said. "Wait here."

Eni ran back to the crowd outside The Great Hall. She scanned the – somewhat quieter now, though still entirely upset – students for red hair, and found who she was looking for.

Eni walked up to Percy. "Where's Charlie and the twins?"

Percy shrugged. "Why would I know?"

He was taller than her now. She hated her genetics. "Then what's the password for the Gryffindor common room? I'll find them myself."

"I'm not telling you-"

"Percy," Eni sighed, "this is why McGonagall has been debating whether or not to make you a prefect next year instead of just going ahead and doing it like she does with everyone else."

"She's not debating. I'm going to be a-"

"I've heard she doesn't think you're . . . approachable enough to manage the position."

"I'm approachable!"

"Percy, I need Charlie. He's not out here. I don't think him and the twins even know about what happened, especially not if they've been in the common room all evening. If you won't give me the password, then be approachable and courteous like a damn prefect should be and help me find him."

Percy uncrossed his arms and shoved himself off the stone wall he had been leaning against. He pushed his way past people with Eni behind him.

Lee and Tonks joined them on their way to the common room.

When they finished navigating the moving staircases and reached the fat lady, Percy leaned close to the portrait and whispered in her ear so the others couldn't hear him.

_Is he even a damn Weasley?_

Eni pushed past Percy as soon as the portrait swung open.

The twins were throwing Exploding Snap cards at each other across the common room. Charlie sat on the floor by the fireplace, leaning over _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ and comparing the book to some of Scamander's old essays he'd gotten from Kettleburn. He'd been so engrossed in the material that he'd missed dinner, and the rest of the events of the night.

Eni, Tonks, and Lee told him and the twins everything.

When they finished, and Charlie had time to swear about all of it, he looked at Tonks. "Is your broom in the castle? We can get out through the owlery. If they haven't stopped the post, I bet they haven't sealed it off."

"If they did seal it off," Fred said, "there are other ways out."

Tonks shook her head. "My broom is in the shed. I never bring it inside. I'm clumsy enough walking with it through the grounds. I'd break a damn antique."

"You can use mine," Fred and George said together. The twins looked at each other, shrugged and ran up the stairs.

"They'll come back with one for you at any rate," Charlie said. He yelled after them, "Grab mine, too!"

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going with you," Charlie said. "I don't want you alone out there with all of this shit going on. Do we even know it's only muggle-borns who are dying tonight?"

"I don't need you to-"

"I know the skies from here to your parents' place a lot better than you do. You'll get home faster flying with me, and you know it."

The twins came back down the stairs. Fred handed Charlie his broom, and a folded sheet of parchment. George gave Tonks his broom.

Eni said, "Be careful, yeah?"

Tonks said, "We'll be back in the morning. Swear it."

"I'll be waiting," Eni said.

"Maybe stay in here and see if Aaron comes back tonight," Charlie said. "I don't know what kind of headspace he'll be in after all of this. I don't want him alone."

"I'll make sure he's not alone," Eni said. "Go break out of Hogwarts."

* * *

Eni tried to stay awake, but her eyes got heavy around three in the morning and she folded herself against Lee on the couch in front of the fireplace. Her sleep was sporadic. She kept waking up to the snapping and crackling sounds of the fire and the unfamiliarity of the dark Gryffindor common room. Students she didn’t know came in and out all night. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been in this room. It had been before she met Lee, when Maddison was still one of them, maybe even when Peter had still been alive.

Eni was surprised when sunlight and Lee's movements woke her up. Lee leaned down and kissed Eni's forehead. 

"Where are you going?"

"To get us breakfast."

"Oh, there's banana bread in a basket on one of the prep tables. I made it yesterday and forgot it down there in the chaos."

"Excellent. Did Charlie tell you the password?"

Eni shook her head. "Just knock when you get back and I'll let you in."

Eni closed her eyes and nodded off again.

The air in front of the fireplace separated. The sound woke Eni back out of her sleep.

Aaron noticed Eni on the couch. "What are you doing in here?"

"Making sure you're alive," Eni said. She sat up and looked at him. "Jesus Christ, your clothes and your hands are covered in-"

"It's not mine," Aaron said. "It's . . . fuck. Do you know? Does everyone here know?"

"We heard after dinner. It was chaos. McGonagall and the rest of them sealed off the school and Hogsmeade. Everyone was panicked and trying to get out so they could make sure their muggle-born friends and family members were alright."

"I didn't . . . see anyone I recognized. Has Lee heard from her mum?"

"She was with her mum in London when it all happened," Eni said. "She came back here to make sure I was alright and tell me about the killings before she got stuck inside with all of us. She just went to find us some breakfast before you appeared."

Aaron hesitated, then asked, "Is Maddison safe?"

"She is, yeah. And Tonks and Charlie broke out to check on Tonks' dad. I'm sure he's fine, but she had to make sure he was home and safe." 

"He should be fine. All the . . . places where muggle-borns were attacked were in London – or north of London. They didn't attack anyone that far southwest. I know that for a fact."

"Wait, I thought they had attacked people in the arrivals lobby? Everyone has been saying muggle-borns are dying at The Ministry."

"No, the killers were attacking people all over the United Kingdom and making them appear in the arrivals lobby, and in Diagon Alley, so everyone could watch them die." 

"That's . . . dear God."

Aaron pulled his blood-covered, long-sleeve shirt over his head. The one he had on underneath wasn't any better. He tossed them both in the fireplace and hit the dying embers with the ignition charm. His skin was stained red. There was more blood in his tangled hair.

"None of them survived," Aaron said. "There were seventy-eight of them, and none of them survived."

Aaron leaned back against the wall next to the fireplace and sank to the floor.

"I was worried about you."

"I'm fine, just . . . fuck. No, I'm not."

Eni got off the couch, walked past the fireplace, and sat down next to him. 

"The Aurors shouldn't have made you-"

"They're not making me do anything. I wanted this. I wanted to do something to make it all stop, and I'm realizing it never will. This world is full of sociopaths."

"Then tell them you want out before one of these sociopaths rips your throat open, too. You're not immune to any of this, Aaron. You've got the same dirty blood I do."

Eni raised her hand and summoned a wet washcloth. When it came floating toward them, she grabbed it and handed it to Aaron. He used it to wipe some of the dried blood off his face and hands. "There's something I need to tell you. I don't know if it's going to make you feel better about me being out there or worse that I kept something from you."

"What?"

"I'm not muggle-born."

"What do you mean you're not muggle-born? How do you even know?"

"Because of the trace. McGonagall found out and told me when they started tracking muggle-born students, and I wasn't one of them."

"That was two years ago. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I haven't told anyone."

"Why?"

"Because it shouldn't matter. This blood status and not coming from magic shit has always been just that – shit. None of it matters, so long as someone can use magic. Fuck, or even if they can't; it doesn't matter. We're not any better than the squibs and muggles. I spent so much time not even knowing magic existed, and then thinking I _was_ a muggle, so are we really any more special for it? It hasn't improved things. This world is just as fucked up as the one we came from."

"You're right. It doesn't matter; not any of it," Eni said. "You could have told me."

"I didn't want you thinking we weren't in this together anymore, because we are. It's always been the two of us trying to navigate all of this magic shit and get it to work for us. I didn't want that to change."

"That's never going to change." Eni took the blood-covered washcloth from Aaron, cleaned it with a charm, and handed it back to him. "While we're talking, there's something I need to tell you, too. And I need you to swear on your cassette tapes that it won't get back to The Ministry."

Eni told Aaron about the train.


	107. Ties that Bind

**February 1991**

The fourth floor passageway McGonagall directed Lara to was concealed behind a mirror with a deteriorated silver coating that gave the reflective surface a mottled appearance. Lara made sure none of the students were around, ran her hands along the frame, and pulled on it. The mirror swung open without protest – just as McGonagall told her it would for her - and Lara stepped behind it, igniting the end of her wand. She took the spiraling stone staircase in front of her, descending until she suspected she was beneath the castle. 

The staircase ended in a stone and soil-lined tunnel wide enough to be an Underground station. Lara stepped over uneven stones and continued through the darkness. She heard water dripping, but she couldn't see where it was coming from.

Something was on the ground. Lara bent down and picked up an empty, discarded package of non-explodable luminous balloons from Gambol and Japes. So, McGonagall wasn't the only one who knew about this passageway. She wondered how many students had known about it when she was at Hogwarts. She had always just taken the One-Eyed Witch Passageway to sneak out with Sam and Rosaline.

It took another twenty minutes for the tunnel to slope upwards. Lara followed it until she saw a wooden cellar door. She pushed against it, but it was locked from the opposite side.

 _Alohomora_ did the trick. Lara heard the padlock snap open. She pushed against the left side door and found herself inside the old stable behind the Hog's Head Inn.

Adam would be worried. She should head home, but she had to make sure Rosaline was alive.

Lara left the stable and walked through Hogsmeade to the Three Broomsticks. Most of the lanterns were dark, and the front door was locked and enchanted. Lara looked through the windows and saw Aleus cleaning tables. She knocked on the glass until she got his attention.

Aleus ran his fingers over the front door, dissolving the wards he had set. Lara stepped inside as he pulled it open.

Aleus said, "You should be home. It isn't safe for you to be out tonight."

"I don't plan on being safe," Lara said. "I need your fireplace. I have to get to London."

"Then find another way. I've shut it off from the Floo Network, per McGonagall's orders."

"Turn it back on, for fuck's sake. I have to make sure Rosaline is alright."

"Send Adam to check on her, or I can, if you tell me where to go."

Rosaline shook her head. "I'm going, Aleus. I have to see her."

"I can't let you travel to London tonight with muggle-borns being massacred."

"I'm going to travel directly to Rosaline's building. I'm not going anywhere near The Ministry."

"It isn't just happening at The Ministry, Lara. People are talking about the killings all over Hogsmeade. They're saying there were muggle-borns dying in Diagon Alley, too. If Rosaline isn't alright, there's nothing you can do for her now. If she is, then you're risking your neck for nothing."

"And if Rosaline is at home, blissfully unaware, and about to leave for a night out on the town with her muggle husband? Ros isn't connected to this damn world like we are, Aleus. I have to make sure she's safe and keep her that way. I'm not sending you or Adam to do it for me, so light your damn fireplace. If you don't, I'll find another way to get to London. Would you rather I fly?"

Aleus walked to the fireplace, rubbed his palms together, and ignited the logs. He waved his hands in arching patterns, and handed Lara his dish of Floo powder. "Watch yourself out there. And don't go anywhere-"

"I'll be fine," Lara said, taking a handful of Floo powder. "Can you tell Adam where I've gone?"

"Are you serious? You should have told him, Lara."

"He'd only stop me."

Lara threw the Floo powder into the fireplace. "Number Fifteen Rushcroft Road."

Lara disappeared into the green flames.

She stepped out of the fireplace inside the lobby of Rosaline's apartment building. She raised her wand, ready to _Obliviate_ any muggle who may have seen her, but no one was around. She took the stairs to the third floor and knocked on Number 319.

No one answered. Lara knocked again and heard movement on the other side.

Rosaline opened the door. Lara pulled her into a hug.

"What are you doing here? I've just gotten Anna to bed so Tom and I could, you know, celebrate the holiday a little."

Still holding onto Rosaline, Lara said, "There's been more killings. I'm glad you're alright."

Rosaline stepped into the hallway with Lara and closed her front door behind them.

"Where?"

"The Ministry and Diagon Alley."

"Oh, my God. How many?"

"I don't know," Lara said. "I'm not sure anyone does. I've heard as high as forty."

"Jesus Christ. They can't all be muggle-born."

"All of them are, from what I've heard. They've locked down The Ministry."

Rosaline leaned against her door. She felt sick.

Lara knew where the other witch's mind had gone. "I'm sure the Aurors are alright, Ros."

"But if they've attacked muggle-borns at damn The Ministry-"

"Let's check Juliet's flat, alright?"

Rosaline shook her head. "She's had it warded off since she started working for The Ministry."

"Can you apparate us into her building, then?" Lara had never been able to apparate worth a damn

Rosaline said, "Let me give Tom some excuse, so he doesn't worry."

When Rosaline came back out, she locked the door to her flat, and set a ward.

She took Lara's arm and concentrated on the memories of the hallway outside of her sister's flat. She couldn't remember the last time she had been there. Her recollection was faded – _was there carpet in the hallway or was it wood_ – _was there a lift or just a staircase_ \- but she felt like she could remember enough of it – _had to be wood and there wasn't a lift, or at least there wasn't when we helped her move in_ \- to serve as a destination.

Determined and deliberate, Rosaline held onto Lara and dissipated from the hallway.

They appeared in the empty hallway outside the door to Juliet's flat.

Rosaline knocked. No one answered. There were no sounds on the other side of the door. She felt the heavy wards and knew even before she tried _Alohomora_ that it wouldn't do anything.

"I'm sure she's alright, Ros."

"It's my fault," Rosaline said. "We haven't spoken in almost two years, Lara. She sent a Christmas gift for Anna, and I sent it back. She wouldn't tell me if she was safe tonight."

Rosaline leaned against Juliet's door.

"I haven't wanted to push the issue," Lara said, "but if we want to destroy the trace, the next person we have to confront is Juliet."

"I'm not chaining my sister to a chair in her kitchen."

"She won't go against her damn Ministry," Lara said, "so what else do you suggest?"

Rosaline shook her head. "There has to be another way."

"Not if we want to get rid of the trace and stop all of this, or at least make it harder for the killers to locate us and get our damn autonomy back."

"Would destroying the trace even stop them? What's to stop The Ministry from casting it again and starting the process all over? And it seems like the killers are using a trace of their own. How else do they keep finding our kind? How did they find forty of us or however many they slaughtered tonight?"

"If they are using a similar trace, Juliet would know."

"If she knows, it means she can't do anything to stop it."

"We have to make sure," Lara said, "too many of us are dying for our only path forward to be blocked because you are too afraid to confront your kid sister."

"If I confront her, and she decides to take a look inside my head," Rosaline said, "nothing will stop her from seeing the train and what we did to Burke. She's an Auror. I agree that we have to find a way to destroy the trace and their list of muggle-born names, but Juliet isn't on our side, Lara. If she found out what we've done, she'd take us right to the Wizengamot."

"She's your sister."

Rosaline shook her head. "That's never been enough."

Rosaline reached inside her pocket. She pulled out a receipt from the corner store and one of Anna’s broken crayons, pressed against the wall, and wrote, _"Just tell me you're alive. I'm safe at home. Ros."_

The ward stopped Rosaline from slipping the note under Juliet's door, so she wedged it between the frame and hoped it would be visible enough.

Rosaline took Lara's hand and apparated them back into the hallway outside of her flat.

Lara said, "I should get back to Adam. And you need to show Tom a good night."

"If I have it in me now," Rosaline said. "If you confront Juliet, don't let her touch you, Lara, not if you don't want her to see everything we've done."

"I won't, Ros. I know how she . . . works." Lara said. "When I confront her, I won't let her anywhere near me."

Rosaline took the ward off her front door and stepped inside. "She might not give you a choice."


	108. Resurgence

**March 1991**

A battered carriage tore through the rain and wind, driven by four skeletal hoses. The Thestrals shrieked as they propelled themselves upward, pulling their harness straps taut and soaring over the North Sea – leaving the unplottable island and the stone walls of Azkaban to the storm.

The two men inside the coach – and the silent coachman sitting atop the driving box – had no difficulty seeing the creatures.

Dumbledore's emaciated body shook. He stretched his arms across the compartment so Fudge could remove his iron shackles. It would take months for the marks on Dumbledore's wrists to fade, even with healing spells. He didn't know how long it would take the rest of him to recover; his mind had been damaged along with his body.

"I've arranged for a healer to meet us in Godric's Hollow," Fudge said, dropping the shackles on the floorboards, "if you still wish to recuperate from this ordeal at your old family home."

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore said, "this . . . ordeal. I wonder if we will forever refer to the two years I spent forgotten in a cell having my soul devoured in that manner."

"If I knew you were in Azkaban all this time, I would have made sure you were-"

"Sentenced to the same fate?"

"No, for Merlin's sake, Albus. What you've been through – imprisonment for so long without a trial - in _Azkaban_ – it's barbaric. You should have been taken before a committee, at the most, what with the Aurors not even having any proof that you were involved in Carrow's murder, apart from the word of one young witch."

_One young witch who has always displayed . . . disturbing behavior. If I had been around more to keep an eye on young Juliet instead of fighting in the war Tom started, would she have become such a wayward Auror?_

Fudge watched Dumbledore. "Albus, did you kill Marcus Carrow?"

Dumbledore looked out the window at the storm and the beating leather wings of the Thestrals; membranes stretched tight over ligaments and bones. He couldn't remember a time he had not been able to see them. "Is that what Alastor told you?"

Dumbledore kept his eyes on their ghastly escorts. "It wasn't long ago that we found four muggle-borns hanging in the dungeon. When I held the body of the slain scribe, I realized the carnage we had become so familiar with didn't end with Voldemort. We have always been at war. We will always be at war. People like the Carrows will always feed off fear and bigotry."

He looked at Fudge when he said, "I did what needed to be done in order to end the resurgence of bloodshed, or so I thought at the time. We did far worse things during the war. But, I am afraid I acted in haste, and neglected to pursue those who have been behind the killings from the start. From what I have heard, their deeds have poisoned our entire world."

Fudge said, "Fifty muggle-borns bled out in The Ministry's arrivals lobby – twenty-eight more bled out in Diagon Alley – on Valentine's Day. Since that night, twenty more muggle-borns have been found dead with their throats torn open. I am afraid your assessment of our world's condition isn't far off, but I would like to avoid another war. I need you back on the Wizengamot to give the muggle-borns some semblance of hope until we can put an end to these killings."

"Are you hoping my presence will placate them?"

"You've always spoken for muggle-borns," Fudge said. "They will react well to seeing that you've returned. Word of your imprisonment is not common knowledge; quite the contrary. I will ensure your name is never tarnished by this unfortunate incident."

Lightning split the sky. The Thestrals seemed to embrace it, using the turbulence of the storm to power their flight. "I've heard threats screamed by the Death Eaters who occupied the cells adjacent to my own. They've all said the same thing – that the brands on their arms – for instants at a time - burn with a disturbing, familiar energy."

Fudge shook his head. "It's nothing more than the dying hope of criminals. They have all screamed similar things on every past trip I've made to Azkaban. Voldemort is dead, and they have been left without a master."

"If what I have heard are the remnants of a deranged group of terrorists," Dumbledore said, "then why is there also word of The Dark Mark being cast over London?"

"Because, clearly, we never finished the task of hunting down all of Voldemort's followers, as we had previously thought. A few seem to have slipped through our fingers and allied themselves with the muggle-born killers. I am hoping you can quash their resurgence in addition to calming the anxieties of the muggle-borns. I've lost confidence in the Aurors to do so. They have proven they are not capable of preventing another war."

"It seems you have many things planned for my return."

"You're the only one capable of restoring some type of order to our world, Albus," Fudge said. "Your release, I admit, is based on my assumption that you will, of course, be returning to the Wizengamot regularly, and that you will resume your headmaster position at Hogwarts. I need you overseeing the students and ensuring that we can recruit more capable Aurors."

"I assume you left my school in Minerva's capable hands," Dumbledore said. "What do you suggest I tell her when I return without explanation, and much more worse for the wear?"

"Whatever you think is best. Tell her you were on a sabbatical of self-discovery for all I care. Minerva respects you. She has been awaiting your return, I assure you."

Fudge reached into his coat and took out a wand whose core had been taken from one of the same types of creatures that pulled them through the torrential rain. The Minister of Magic didn't realize what he held.

Dumbledore still thought of it as Gellert's wand.

Fudge handed the Elder Wand to Dumbledore. "I want my time as Minister to be well-remembered as an era of peace and stability. I do not intend to preside over another war."


	109. Identity Crisis

**March 1991**

_Right, then._

_Enough fucking around. Find something worth a damn for once._

_And don't –_

_Shit. When did this happen?_

The magnetic tape had unraveled from _Let's Start a War_. Aaron shoved the end of his wand into the cassette reel and wound the tangled filaments back into the battered plastic shell, checking to make sure they hadn't been torn or creased. When he was satisfied with the results, he slid the album into Eni's Walkman, pressed play, and turned the volume up until he was sure _The Exploited's_ crashing drums, aggressive guitar riffs, and Buchan's screaming would drown out the broken, fragmented sounds of what he was about to do.

Aaron took off his ring and leaned back against the stone wall. If he didn't fight the layers, and didn't make a conscious effort to keep them at bay, it wouldn't take long for them to assault him all on their own. He kept his eyes on the North Tower storage room – on crates and discarded furniture he had helped Filch organize in 1986 – and waited for space to start fucking with him.

The clearing in the Forbidden Forest appeared first, followed by the bathroom with the stained mirror, the gravel-covered rooftop in Edinburgh, and the alley behind the convenience store in Glasgow. Aaron kept the park, the Weasleys' kitchen, a fire escape in London, and the Gryffindor common room from overriding the rest of the locations and started to focus on summoning what he needed – places he had pulled off Carrow, Bulstrode, Black, and Flint. The layers, he had started to realize, faded with time as the associated places lost their emotional significance. To hold onto layers that weren't his – a crescendo of random streets, parks, yards, pubs, restaurants, shops, and rooms, most of which meant fuck all to Aaron – was even harder. He had to summon them often and attach them to his own memories of each of the people he had pulled them off of. Even then, there were still a lot of layers in his inventory that he had no idea who he'd gotten them from, or where they even were. The locations he'd pulled off the killers were more familiar. He had jumped to each one, found out where they were, and kept summoning them – like he was now – to see if he saw anything worth a damn. Had he really not pulled anything useful off of these sociopaths?

_"Let's start a war, said Maggie one day . . . "_

Empty bedrooms and living rooms, streets and train platforms filled with muggles, rooms with towering fireplaces, pubs with loud music, parks and gardens with fountains, flats the killers hadn't occupied in years, playgrounds, meadows, gravel roads in the middle of nowhere, and grass lawns overlooking old pure-blood family estates.

_What did all of these places mean to these people?_

_And how have none of them given me anything I can use to find the rest of the killers? What am I missing?_

Aaron held onto twenty, thirty locations at a time, cycled through more, and spit a mouthful of drool into a dishtowel, holding onto each location long enough to scan the scenery for anything useful. His body blurred until the Walkman fell out of his shaking hands. He could still hear fragments of traffic, voices, dishes, and trains mixed in the screamed lyrics, even with the device at full volume.

_"Let's start a war, said Maggie one day . . . "_

He summoned the circular stone room. It had been abandoned since he'd pulled it off Carrow.

_They know we're watching it. But how?_

The park pulled on Aaron and he lost his grasp on the rest of the layers. He saw Juliet's flat, Moody's kitchen, a house he didn't recognize, Dumbledore's office, the Three Broomsticks, the abandoned house in Glasgow, a cemetery, Charlie's camp in the woods near The Burrow, and the Ravenclaw common room. 

_No, come ON._

Aaron wiped his mouth.

_Seventy-eight dead on the fourteenth of February. Twenty more since. Find them. Find SOMETHING._

He saw more places he didn't recognize – locations he must have pulled off the dying muggle-borns in Diagon Alley and the arrivals lobby. Balconies, hallways, offices, a flower shop, a car dealership, and a cafeteria.

He saw seventy-eight kill sites. Some of them were still littered with broken glass.

_"Let's start a war, said Maggie one day . . . "_

Aaron closed his eyes. Sweat covered his neck, face, and arms. He reached for the stone floor and concentrated on the North Tower. There were too many places and the sound of them was tearing through his head over the noise of his music. He had to stop.

Aaron pulled himself out of the layers and slid the ring back on his finger. 

The world stabilized. Aaron wiped off his face and mouth.

He'd try again as soon as his body could take it.

The storage room door opened. Eni came in. Aaron pulled the headphones off his ears and pressed STOP.

"Are you alright?"

"Oi, yeah, bloody brilliant," Aaron said, "you know, just sitting alone with stacks of abandoned, medieval chairs."

"You can't lie for shit," Eni said, but she didn't pry. "Can I bum a fag?"

"What happened?"

"Get me that fag first."

Aaron took the pack out of his back pocket and handed it to Eni after he took one for himself. Eni lit both of them, and took a long drag, holding her elbow with the arm she crossed over her body. She coughed. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her smoke.

"Dumbledore's back."

"What?"

"I just saw him come out of McGonagall's office. I thought you should know."

Aaron leaned back against the wall and kept the cigarette between his lips. _Fuck._

"No one knows where he's been, or why he's back."

"I do," Aaron said. "He was in Azkaban, until Cornelius Fudge decided he'd served his time."

"Time for what? What the hell was he doing in Azkaban?"

"For . . . for . . ." Aaron couldn't finish. He choked on the words. Moody's gag charm was, apparently, still effective more than three years later. He couldn’t talk about Marcus Carrow's murder with anyone who wasn’t involved. "For doing something he should still be in there for; something I can't talk about, like physically can't get the words out past a gag charm one of the Aurors cast on me."

"Are they always shutting you up like this? I need to learn this spell."

Aaron threw up a finger. "I knew Fudge was letting Dumbledore out, but I didn't think he'd let him anywhere near Hogwarts. He's dangerous and he shouldn't be here. He should be getting a mental evaluation at St. Mungo's, or, I don't know, Queen Elizabeth University Hospital."

"What do we do?"

"Protect the younger students and hide the alcohol."

"Aaron-"

"I'm serious. Short of confronting him, or finding an effective banishment spell, I don't know. The Minister of Magic overrode the Aurors."

Eni flicked ashes off the end of her cigarette. "We're almost done, right? Three months and we're gone."

"Then who's going to make sure he doesn't hurt more students? If we're not here and Dumbledore still has control over students' lives-" Aaron started, then just said, "Fuck."

"What?"

Aaron inhaled hard. "That bastard might still be my legal guardian."

"How the hell is that possible? Didn't that all end when you turned eighteen?"

"I never got anything saying it was time to show up in court and emancipate myself or whatever I was supposed to do."

"Does it even matter in this world?"

"I don't want to rely on any of the questionable legal practices of this goddamn wizard cluster fuck," Aaron said. "I need to make sure I'm not legally tied to a sociopath. I have to go to Glasgow and pay my social worker a visit."

Aaron looked at his watch. It was late, but if Rachel Adams kept the same hours she always had, she'd be at her desk, at least, if she wasn't physically re-locating a child. He crushed out his cigarette.

"Do you want company?"

"To go see my social worker? I imagine it will be boring."

"Then I'll sit there while you sign papers," Eni said. "Can you take us?"

He didn't remember ever seeing Rachel's office in his layers, but he remembered the uncomfortable chairs, dust-covered window blinds, and the green lamp on her desk. It shouldn't be hard to summon. He'd have to remember the lobby, too, or another part of Rachel's building though if he was going to jump there without scaring the shit out of her and breaking the International Statue of Secrecy all in one go.

Aaron took off the ring and pushed back against the aggressive layers that still wanted to take over. He tried to remember the nondescript government building he hadn't been inside of since he was eleven years old. Hadn't there been a break room? With a black and white television and a handful of static-laced channels? The only emotion he felt from the location was boredom.

But it was enough. Worn vinyl floors layered over Eni and the stacks of old furniture. The room he saw was dark, and empty.

"I can get us there."

Eni flicked her cigarette on the stone floor and crushed it with her Doc Martens. She held out her hand. "Alright, make us disappear."

Aaron took Eni's hand and pulled them both through space, manipulating the layers with as much control as he could manage.

They appeared in front of an old refrigerator with a muted _crack_.

Eni looked at the dated wood panel walls and checker-patterned flooring. "Did you apparate us to Glasgow or to the year before we were born?"

"This way, Hand Magic."

He led Eni to a staircase at the end of the adjacent hallway. They took two flights of stairs down to the second floor.

Aaron heard Rachel's familiar voice as soon as he pushed open the stairwell door.

"If he can't be there," he heard her say from three doors down the hallway, "then he needs to let me know so I can make other arrangements."

It was a one-sided conversation. She was on the telephone.

They waited in the hallway. When she hung up, Eni looked at Aaron and mouthed _Go on._

Aaron knocked on the open door. Rachel looked up. "Can I help you?"

Had it been that long? He didn't think he looked _that_ much different from his eleven year old self.

"Rachel?" He had never called her anything else. "I know it's been awhile, but I thought you'd at least recognize me."

"I'm sorry, who are you?"

"Aaron Stone. You sent me to a school in the Highlands in 1984."

Rachel didn't give any indications that she knew what he was talking about. "I think you must have me confused with someone else."

"No, I don't. You're my social worker. How do you not remember me?"

"Were you only under my care for a short time?"

"No, you've been my social worker since I was, I don't know, crawling."

"I have overseen the placement of hundreds of children. I will admit there have been a lot of you who haven't stood out."

Aaron yanked his sleeve up and showed Rachel the scar on his left arm. "Does this stand out? Do you remember taking me to the hospital in the middle of the night and keeping me at your house for almost a month after I was attacked by a foster parent?"

Behind him, Eni said, "Aaron, we should go. She doesn't-"

"No," Aaron said, "hang on."

He stepped into the empty hallway and pulled himself into his dorm room, not caring how loud the resulting sound was. He opened his trunk.

_CRACK_

Aaron walked back into Rachel's office with a worn envelope and handed it to her. 

She took out the folded letter and read it. "I don't understand."

"That's your handwriting, correct?"

"Yes, but I don't remember writing this." Rachel handed the letter back to Aaron and walked to her filing cabinets. "What did you say your name was?"

 _You've got to be joking._ "Aaron Stone."

"Middle name?"

"I don't have one."

Rachel went through her files.

_What is going on?_

"I don't have any record of you," Rachel said. "I keep detailed records of all of the children in my care; lists of who they've stayed with, schools they've attended, medical records, court documents . . . I don't have anything like that for you. You could put in a request with the courts, and they can get back to you."

She _had_ forgotten him. Or –

_fuck_

_No, don't be mental. Why would someone Obliviate Rachel?_

This wasn't the wizarding world. 

Yet, here he was, looking at her blank face.

"You're right," Aaron said, "I must have confused you with someone else."

He folded the letter and tucked it in his back pocket. 

Rachel said, "If I did write that letter, you might want to check with my colleague in mental health. He might remember you, especially if he sent along a photograph for you. He works on the fourth floor. Office 406. His name's Michael Compton. He tends to work late, too."

Aaron said, "Sorry we interrupted your night."

"I wish I did remember you," Rachel said. "Aaron was it?"

He nodded.

"I hope you find what you're looking for."

Aaron followed Eni back to the staircase.

"So, uh, you left me standing there with her, rather awkwardly, I might add, having never introduced us-"

"I think she's had her memory altered."

"Who the hell would _Obliviate_ a muggle social worker?"

"I don't know." Aaron pushed open the stairwell door and they headed back up to the fourth floor.

"Does this mean you're out of the damn foster care system?"

"You got me there, too."

"Do you think this Michael Compton will remember you?"

"No, we've never met," Aaron said, "but he might remember my mother."

Aaron pushed open the door to the fourth floor and followed the signs to 406. A bald, black man stepped into the hallway, leaving for the night.

Aaron and Eni walked up to him. "Are you Michael Compton?"

"I am," the man said, "and you are?"

Aaron explained who he was, summarized his conversation with Rachel, and described Abigail Laurent and the photograph.

"Son, I need to get home before my wife scalps me for missing dinner and my daughter's bedtime for the third night in a row. I don't have time to look through confidential information that I couldn't give you even if I did know who this Abigail Laurent is."

Aaron took his wand out of his back pocket and slipped it between his shirt sleeve and his palm. He pulled his hand back and thought _Adiuvaret Ego_. He'd never cast the assistance charm himself, but he'd seen Juliet use it when she needed someone to be a bit more helpful without venturing into Unforgivable Curse territory.

Michael's face changed. "Come to think of it, I did spend some time in Nantes around the time you said this Abigail Laurent would have been admitted. Have you tired Hopital Psychiatrique Esprit Brise?"

It took Aaron a second to realize the man was speaking French and not mispronouncing some type of spell. "Is that . . . in France?"

"Yes, of course. It's a mental hospital in Nantes, France."

"Have you been there?"

"Several times. I think I was last there in 1985."

Aaron shook Michael's hand. 

He saw a backyard with a swing. A garage with a television set and Rangers F.C. banners. An empty bedroom with clothes on the floor and a light coming from a bathroom. A pub.

_Come on, I know you're thinking about it now._

Aaron saw a row of desks, bookshelves, and filing cabinets inside an office with hatched glass windows. There was a sign on the wall.

_"ATTENTION STAFF: Confirm that both the inner and outer doors have closed before moving a patient into the corridor."_

_There we go._

He released Michael's hand. "I appreciate the help."

Aaron and Eni left the - somewhat confused, yet glad to be heading home - man in the hallway and walked back to the break room.

"Do you want me to drop you at Hogwarts before I jump to France?"

"Can you even apparate that far?"

"I don't know, to be honest. I think so. It's not that much . . . farther."

"Right, well, I'm not letting you go to a mental hospital on your own, so as long as you can take us both."

"Are you sure? I'd hate to leave you awkwardly standing around again."

"Come on." Eni grabbed Aaron's shoulder. "Just don't splinch off one of my legs, or I'll never forgive you."

The world pitched forward as Aaron pulled them into the dark office he'd pulled off Compton.

The distance hadn't been a problem.

Someone in scrubs walked past the hatched windows.

"Shit," Eni said, and pulled Aaron down on the floor with her to avoid being seen. They sat with their backs against a bookshelf. "How much do you want to bet the staff won't be happy if they find us in here? This isn't exactly a reception desk."

Aaron stood up and looked out the windows. "It looks like we're right off a patient ward. There's a nurse's station outside this door. We'll be seen right away."

"Can you apparate us past them?"

"I can't see much beyond the nurse's station and some closed doors, so no."

Eni said, "Let's start with this room, then. If this is some kind of administration office, there might be more information in here with us than anything we can find out there."

The room was filled with desks, bookcases, filing cabinets; stacks of papers, folders, and binders.

Aaron said, "This is going to take all night."

Eni pulled a face at him.

”What?”

”Sometimes you still forget you’re a damn wizard.”

Eni raised her hand and waved it through the air, concentrating on the summoning charm. It took her a few iterations of wording before something moved on the other side of a locked closet door. Eni waved her hand over the doorknob and pulled it open. The room was filled with shelves of filing boxes. Most of the boxes were yellow with age and crushed by the weight of each other. The writing on the boxes was faded – dates and letters etched in black marker.

One of the boxes moved. _L – Q, 1972 – 1974._

Eni used the levitation charm and raised her hands to remove the box sitting on top the one she wanted. As soon as it was free, the lid of _L – Q_ lifted into the air and a single sheet of paper drifted toward Eni.

It was in French - of course it was. Eni used a translation charm.

"Oh," Eni said. "Oh, god."

"What?"

Eni shook her head.

"Eni, what is it?"

"Aaron, I'm sorry."

Eni handed him the paper. It was a death certificate.

Abigail Laurent had died in 1973.

"Aaron, I didn't know that's what it would be. I thought maybe-"

Aaron made himself read past his mother's name to the handwritten description.

_"Patient was found at 2:15 on the morning of the 7 th of November, 1973. The patient had long suffered from textbook paranoid schizophrenia, often exhibiting aggression, agitation, disordered thoughts, delusions, self-detachment, and depression. Patient had a previous history of self-harm, and had attempted to harm others on multiple occasions. Patient was frequently found talking to herself, and reported hearing voices. Based on the condition of the body, it was obvious that the patient had-"_

It took him a second to read the rest. He felt sick.

"- _taken her own life inside her room."_

Aaron let the death certificate fall out of his hands.

"Aaron?"

"I had always heard that she was a damn nutter," Aaron said, "I don't know what I thought we would find here. I thought . . . she might still be here. I thought she was still alive, at least."

"Aaron, I'm so sorry you found out this way."

"How else would I have found out? Who else was going to tell me? She was alone. Like I was."

Eni picked up the death certificate, folded it, and tucked it into her pocket. Aaron couldn't look at it again now, she realized, but he might still want it one day.

"I never even knew her," Aaron said, looking unsteady. "I shouldn't be feeling this damn upset."

"She was still your mother."

Aaron shook his head. "I was an idiot for thinking that she wasn't crazy. I thought everyone had gotten it wrong."

"Her symptoms could have been less-"

"Eni, we're in a mental hospital. Did you read the description? It didn't leave much room for doubt. She was mental."

Aaron continued, "When I found out I'm not muggle-born, I wondered if maybe she'd just been like me. Maybe she was a witch and everyone just _thought_ she was crazy. Nothing on that piece of paper describes magic. She was just insane, like everyone always told me."

"She was sick, Aaron. And she didn't get the help she needed."

Aaron bent down and started digging through the rest of the box. Eni went through a container marked _K - O, 1970's_. Neither of them said anything, and neither of them found anything else. The last box Aaron lifted off one of the top shelves with the levitation charm - deteriorated cardboard with a peeling white label that read _Patient Sessions - L through N,1972 and 1973 -_ was empty. 

A few hours before sunrise, Aaron - exhausted and numb - took them both home.


	110. C'est la Vie

**April 1971**

The melodic voice of Francoise Hardy combined with laughter and drifted through the open townhouse windows – past sheer curtains and colored glass bottles holding blue, yellow, and white wildflowers – into the late night air. At first, the dark-haired man tried to ignore the music, and the voices of his neighbor and her guests, but loud fragments of lyrics, and pieces of their conversations, echoed off the walls of the narrow courtyard that separated the buildings and made doing so difficult. He gave up, took a drink from the glass he held, and listened.

Abigail Laurent took another drink from an open bottle of Sauvignon Blanc before she passed it back to Halette, the woman who sat across from her. "All I'm saying, Blaise, darling, is the Americans weren't the first to write that way." She picked up the stack of books on her coffee table, set Woolf, Plath, and Chopin to the side, and handed the first volume of _The Diary of Anais Nin_ to the third woman. "Here, take this home and you'll see what I'm talking about. _On the Road_ is overrated – nothing but a damn American male fantasy story – and Kerouac gets far too much credit for stream of consciousness writing, like he invented it or some nonsense. Nin has been writing that way since at least the 1930's."

Blaise opened the worn book and started reading somewhere in the middle. "My God, Abigail, you don't include this in your syllabus, do you? It's-"

Abigail smiled. "Scandalous?"

"A bit vulgar, actually."

"Isn't it wonderful?"

"Is this Nin woman sleeping with the husband _and_ the wife? I'm intrigued."

"That was my intention," Abigail said. "Don't worry, it's not a part of my curriculum, but I'd be lying if I told you I had never passed a few copies on to curious students."

Blaise turned to the next page. "I'll try to pay attention to the literary style as I make my way through this _obscenite_."

"See, you've circled back to my last point! When Kerouac writes about sleeping his way across The States, it's _literary_. When a French woman writes about her affairs, it's obscene. You've been conditioned along with the rest of them."

Halette picked up _The Bell Jar_. "If you're sending her off with a book, I'd like one, too. I need an escape from grading bad laboratory reports."

Abigail snatched the book out of Halette's hand. "Oh, God, no, you don't want this one then."

Abigail got off the couch and stepped over Blaise's legs. She walked past two bookcases – her townhouse was filled with them; shelves overflowing with novels in English and French – and stopped at the built-ins by the kitchen door. She grabbed _A Tree Grows in Brooklyn_ and handed it to Halette. "Here, escape into this. You like coming of age, right? This copy's in English, so maybe keep your dictionary handy for any words you don't know."

Abigail picked up the now empty bottle of wine and walked into the kitchen, leaving the other woman alone with the books for a moment. She turned on the faucet and glanced at the record player on the cabinet by the window. _Le Temps de L'amour_ was caught in a loop. 

_Damn old album._

Abigail made sure Blaise and Halette hadn't followed her, raised her hand, and . . . nudged the needle back to the outer edge of the record. Hardy's _Tous les Garcons et les Filles_ started to play. 

It had started a few years ago, when she was in graduate school. At first, Abigail had only been able to do it when she was frustrated, but now, if she concentrated, she didn't have to touch things to make them move.

Abigail rinsed the bottle and set it on the drying rack by the sink. She wiped her hands on a dishtowel and looked out the open kitchen window.

He was out there again; her neighbor; drinking alone, sitting on his back steps, and watching her, like she couldn't see him.

_Enough of his shit. I'm not his damn entertainment._

Abigail walked past Blaise and Halette and pulled on her ankle-high boots.

"Where are you going?"

She nodded toward the kitchen window. "He's out there again; my damn neighbor. It's bad enough him and his wife's shouting keeps me up most nights, now he's decided to watch us through the windows."

"I didn’t realize you had anyone else living back there. "

"Are you going to tell him off?"

"I'm not inviting him in for a glass of wine, that's for damn sure." 

Abigail opened her back door and stepped outside.

She walked across the courtyard and yelled, "Do you mind?"

The man didn't respond. _Is he that drunk?_

"Excuse me," she tried again, stopping fifteen feet from where he sat, "but do you mind? I'm trying to have a nice evening with my friends, and you're out here watching us like we're France 2."

The man looked around. "You can see me?"

"Well, of course I can see you. This damn courtyard isn't that poorly lit."

"It's only . . . people like you can't usually see me when I sit here, not on my steps."

"What does that mean? People like me?"

"Can you see my house?"

"As well as you can see mine, which seems to be quite well."

_I would start a confrontation with the neighborhood un con._

The man stood up. "You're not one of them, then. You'd only see a brick wall if you were."

_What's in his glass? Straight alcohol?_

"Look," Abigail said, "I'd rather get back to my friends. Can't you go back inside and yell at your wife some more?"

The man looked worried. "You weren't supposed to hear us, either."

"You're joking, right? I've heard nothing but arguments from your direction since the two of you moved in last fall. I still can't believe you convinced Mademoiselle Caron to sell that place. She told me she'd live there forever."

The man didn't say anything. Abigail turned to leave. "Give my regards to your spirited wife, and please refrain from staring through my windows ever again."

"You won't hear anything from us tonight." The man took a drink from his glass. "My wife loves someone else. She's with him."

"How . . . French of her."

"She's English, actually."

Abigail turned back to the man. "So was my mother. She did something similar to my father a few years back; ran off with some Scottish man. I'm still questioning her taste."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"Not particularly. I was just trying to sympathize with you, since you look so downtrodden."

"I'll stop watching you. I apologize for encroaching on your privacy."

"And I'll cover my ears next time you and your mademoiselle go at each other."

Abigail was halfway across the courtyard when he asked, "Are you a witch?"

"Excuse me?"

"Do . . . can you make strange things happen?"

"I have no idea what-"

"Do doors slam when you're upset? Can you make things change size? Or maybe move things without touching them?"

_This absolute -_

"You've been watching me. You've been spying on me like a damn-"

"No, honestly, I haven't. It's only, if you can see my house, I thought maybe there were other things you could do."

"If I ever catch you watching me again, I won't come back out here to exchange pleasantries. I'll call the damn police."

"I'm sorry. I've upset you. I'll leave you alone. I promise. It's just . . . the doors slamming. That was how it started for me, that and things moving on their own."

He took something out of his pocket.

_Is that a stick?_

The man waved whatever it was through the air. A blue flower lifted out of the green glass bottle on Abigail's kitchen window sill and floated toward them.

_I see I've had too much to drink myself._

_No, be honest. It's like what I can do. He's like me._

The man said, "If you find you'd ever like to feel less . . . alone in all of this, I'll be here, just across the courtyard."

Abigail took the flower out of the air. Inside, her Francoise Hardy album was stuck in another loop.


	111. Harbinger

**April 1991**

The office behind the enchanted stone gargoyle still held onto the stale stench of a room that had been closed-off for too long. The lack of circulation during Dumbledore's absence made the room smell of dust, unused air, and the moisture trapped in one of the old wall cavities. Photographs and parchments with curled edges – spilled over the bookshelves, tables, and the desk – were coated in thick layers of dust, as were a collection of broken, empty bottles laying in the far corner of the room. Minerva made a mental note to send one of the house elves to clean the space, if Albus wasn't going to do it himself. This was not the proper state for a headmaster's office. They should have conducted the interview elsewhere.

Dumbledore had asked Minerva to finish out the school year as headmistress, but she insisted on involving him in all decisions regarding changes to the faculty and staff. Today was no different.

Fawkes spread his wings and stretched on his perch. Minerva was glad to see that the phoenix had returned. Thankfully, the bird seemed to be able to come and go when he pleased, regardless of the whims of her colleague.

Dumbledore crossed the room and handed Minerva and Professor Quirrell each a cup of tea. "Interesting head-wear you've chosen for yourself these days, Quirinus. Is there a reason for it? Perhaps something to do with your travels?"

"I . . . I received it from a prince in Africa as . . . compensation. I was able to dispose of a zombie infestation he had been struggling with."

Minerva watched Quirrell's eyes shift as he spoke. He had always been a nervous man. "I didn't realize zombies were still common, let alone a problem."

"Oh, oh, yes," Quirrell said, taking a sip of his tea, "just not so much in Europe anymore."

Minerva took a drink of her tea.

"I admit I was a little surprised to hear from you again so soon," Minerva said. "Your sabbatical request was approved for two years. You still have another year to take, if you would like to do so. As I assured you, your position will be available whenever you return, should you still wish to take the remainder of the time."

"No, no, I . . . I am not here for my old position. Muggle Studies no longer . . . intrigues me the way it once did."

"Then, why are you back so soon?"

"I . . . I've returned to teach D-Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"We have a Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor," Dumbledore said, "Professor Rozen has shown excellent dedication-"

Minerva shook her head. Albus had been gone too long. "Professor Rozen abandoned the position at the end of the 1988 – 1989 school year; a month after you left, Albus."

"Then, who has been teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

"Myself, and other members of the faculty, have been overseeing the course, along with a handful of guest speakers. It has been somewhat impossible to find a qualified professor to teach the class full time."

Quirrell said, "It's the curse."

Dumbledore looked at the nervous man. "The curse?"

"Everyone says there's a curse on the position."

Minerva said, "Come off it, Quirinus. There's no curse. The position is difficult to fill, nothing more. Those most qualified to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts are using their talents for more important endeavors, such as working as Aurors. Others are survivors of the war who would rather not teach so-called battle magic to another generation."

"Then you do . . . need me."

"Do you think your recent travels have prepared you enough to take on the challenges of the role?"

"They have . . . more than prepared me."

"If you believe so, than I would appreciate it if you would provide us with an updated resume and a letter detailing your-"

Dumbledore said, "Nonsense, Minerva."

"Excuse me?"

"You said it yourself, it has been difficult to fill the position. Professor Quirrell has proven himself time and again to be a capable member of our faculty-"

Minerva didn't like having this discussion with the former Muggle Studies professor sitting next to her, but Albus wasn't leaving her with a choice. "I still think we should hold him to the same standards to which we would hold any other individual applying for the position."

"Quirinus, you will provide Minerva and myself with an updated resume and any other documentation she requires, won't you?"

"Of course."

"Then," Dumbledore said, "welcome back to Hogwarts. Your timing could not be better. I anticipate that our upcoming First Year class, in particular, will prove to be a fine group of students."

"Yes," Quirrell said, "I've heard . . . rumors that the boy who lived will be among them."

"That is correct," Dumbledore said. “Harry Potter will be attending Hogwarts this fall.”

"How very . . . excellent."

Minerva hid her frustration behind her cup of Earl Grey. Albus had always been . . . unconventional.


	112. When in Doubt

**April 1991**

Two of the windows at the front of the bus were stuck open. They let in a warm, humid breeze that mixed with the air-conditioned streams coming from the vents. Remnant drops of a late afternoon rainstorm slid down the panes. A girl with thick, unruly curls traced them with her finger, and avoided the looks from the women on her left, as the bus drove from Belmont to Edgware.

Hermione Granger wasn't supposed to be this far away from home on her own, but she didn't have a choice. She needed information, and the library at her school lacked resources. Sure, they had plenty of books, but most of them were dated, worn, and geared towards children her age – books, in other words, that she had read through years ago.

She needed a real library. So, she lied, told her teachers she wasn't feeling well, and skipped her afternoon classes. She hated doing it.

But, if she wanted to find out what was happening to her, and do it without involving her parents, this was the only way. And she had to figure it out soon, because it had happened again last night. She had . . . broken everything.

Hermione had known something was wrong as soon as she woke up; shaking and covered in sweat. Her bedroom was dark at three o'clock in the morning, but light came from the hallway. Just enough to see that something was floating above her bed. There were more things drifting through the air by her windows – dark shapes hovering all on their own. She reached for the closest one, and the suspension broke. Everything came crashing down, and not just in her room. Glass broke in the hallway and the kitchen.

Hermione got out of bed and turned on the light on her nightstand. Books, binders, folders, markers, scissors _oh my god there were SCISSORS floating over my head_ – everything she had left organized on her desk – littered the floor and her bed. She picked everything up and pulled her trainers on, still half-asleep and frantic. The last thing she needed was to cut her feet on whatever else she had broken.

She stepped into the hallway. Fragments of glass, metal, and plastic – picture frames her mother kept on the hallway table, framed copies of her parents' degrees, and a painting her mother had bought at a charity event three years ago – covered the wood floor. Hermione pushed the hair out of her face – it was always in her face – and picked up the larger pieces, careful not to cut herself. There was so much glass. She needed a broom. Last time, it had just been the books in the living room and the coats by the door. It – whatever was happening to her – was getting worse.

Hermione walked into the kitchen and turned on the light by the doorway.

_oh my god_

All of the cabinets and drawers were open, and all of their contents – ceramic plates, bowls, and mugs – forks, spoons, and _oh my god_ knives – saucers and trays from her grandmother's jadeite tea set – her father's pint glasses from college - lay shattered on the tile floor.

_No no no no no_

_I didn't mean to do this. I COULDN'T have done this._

But she knew it was her. She had known from the moment the first plate had slid off the counter over a year ago; she could feel a current beneath her skin whenever things like this happened, and her body had been on fire with it before she had woken up. 

She was the one making these things happen.

Hermione went to the broom closet, sidestepping broken pieces of dishes. She grabbed the broom and dustpan, and started to clean up what she could, but there was so much. And so much of it meant something to her, and to her parents. She heard footsteps. What would she tell them this time?

_It happened again. It was ME. I did this. I ruined everything . . . and I don't even know how or why._

Her mother found her – surrounded by broken pieces of everything that had been their kitchen, trying to sweep it all into a pan, frustrated and ashamed.

It was time to figure this out. There had to be a reason for it.

Hermione looked out the window until the bus stopped in Edgware. Then, she stood up, walked past the women and the open windows, and stepped out onto the curb.

It had rained here, too. The streets and sidewalks were wet. She walked the two blocks to the library. 

Once she was inside, she went straight for the Health and Medical Reference section. Her strategy was to make sure whatever was happening wasn't an ailment first, then she would move onto the Science section and see if she could find anything about gravitational anomalies. She had three hours until her father would be waiting for her in front of her school.

An hour passed. The Health and Medical Reference section hadn't given her any answers. Her symptoms weren't consistent with a brain tumor, and she knew she wasn't hallucinating. Her mother had seen the coats fly off the rack by the door all on their own two months ago. Even if she had ransacked the kitchen in her sleep, sleepwalking didn't explain the way she had seen her school supplies floating in the air.

Hermione moved on to the Science section. She read about gravity and the way space warped around black holes; special and general relativity. It didn't explain what she was experiencing – the absence of gravity.

_Or, it's more like . . . levitation._

_But, that's ridiculous. It's like something a carnival magician would do. It's not real._

_So, what am I doing?_

Another hour had passed. She had to get going if she was going to catch the next bus back to Belmont and walk the four blocks to her school.

She saw the book as she walked back toward the front desk – on an end table with a handwritten sign proclaiming _Get a Start on Summer Reading!_ What caught Hermione's attention was the cover. A young girl sat on a stack of books with her hands raised in the air. More books floated over her head.

Hermione had never seen the book before. It looked like something she would have read when she was much younger. She scanned the back cover. A very smart girl who is ignored by her parents, bullied by her principal, and finds out she has special powers. And there was a word to describe it – telekinesis.

 _Is that what I'm doing?_

It was nonsense. It was _fiction_. It was a book for . . . children.

And it was the closest thing she had to an answer. Or, at least, the start of one.

Hermione took the book to the front counter. She reached up and slid the book across the wood surface. The librarian looked down at her. "Did you find what you were looking for, dear?"

"Oh, yes, I did," Hermione said. She reached into the pack she wore on a strap around her waist and took out her library card. She handed it to the woman across the counter.

The librarian picked up the book. "Oh, _Matilda_! This is a good one. It was very popular with girls your age when it was published a few years ago. He's written another one you might like – _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory_."

"I've read that one! I rather enjoyed it."

"Well, be sure to report back and let me know what you think of this one."

The librarian stamped the borrowing card and slid the book back across the counter. Hermione took the book, left the library, and walked back to the bus stop.

She checked the schedule. She'd have to wait for a bit.

She opened _Matilda_ and started reading. Until something near the curb caught her eye.

She thought it was a twenty pence piece, but it wasn't. And it was too . . . heavy to be play money.

She read the inscriptions. One of the words seemed to be –

_Latin?_

_Unum Sickle. Gringotts Bank._

_Whatever does that mean?_

It had to be play money, but she liked the winged creature – the dragon – on the coin, so she slipped it into her pocket, and read until her bus arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might have to go MIA for a while with the hurricane, since it means work will pick up a lot for me, and I will probably be heading to the coast by Monday. I will TRY to get in another short chapter before I leave this weekend, and the one after that is LONG, so maybe if I can get some editing done on the road that will get posted, too. IDK. I will be back . . . just probably more sporadically for a while. So much for trying to maintain a consistent updating schedule. Hope everyone is safe.


	113. Trends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes events from three different years. I've left break lines and headings to HOPEFULLY avoid confusion.
> 
> Let me know if doing so wasn't enough.
> 
> Also, thanks, Kelly, for arming me with the right vocab for this chapter. I love your brain.

**April 1975**

Overnight storms had left portions of the road between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade washed-out and covered with mud. Three young witches stepped over the eroded cobblestone and avoided the deeper puddles. They had enchanted their shoes to keep them clean and dry, but they'd forgotten to do the same to their flared pants. It was fine. Nothing a few cleaning charms couldn't fix once they were inside the Three Broomsticks with a round of butterbeers. 

Besides, none of them minded a little mud.

Lara leaned into Samantha. "You didn't."

"She did," Rosaline said, "twice."

"I'll do it again if I have to," Samantha said, "Professor Travers is an anti-muggle-born bigot."

"A bigot who still hasn't figured out you're snogging his son."

"Oh, she's done more than that with him now."

Samantha elbowed Lara. "Like you've never pulled Adam into the Room of Requirement."

"I never said I didn't."

Rosaline stopped. She heard something in the trees along the road.

She didn't see anyone behind them, but she knew better.

"Jules, come out."

Nothing.

"Juliet, you're not supposed to be this far from the castle. It's not safe."

Samantha said, "Come on, Ros, let her go with us for once. She's not doing anything we didn't do when we were-"

"No, there's a bloody war on. It's dangerous."

"By that logic, we shouldn't be out here either."

"We're not First Years, Sam."

Rosaline raised her wand. She couldn't summon her kid sister, but she could do the next best thing. Rosaline thought of the blackthorn wand with a unicorn hair core that she'd helped Juliet buy in September, and tore her own wand in fast, linear strokes.

The summoned wand hadn't bonded to its young owner yet. It came tearing towards them from behind a cluster of elms. Rosaline snatched it out of the air.

Juliet ran out onto the road. "Give it back!"

"Not until tonight, after you've gone back to the castle and stayed there," Rosaline said, tucking Juliet's wand into her pocket. "You know better than to be this far from the castle with the damn Death Eaters and-"

"I'm not afraid of the Death Eaters."

"I don't doubt that, but it won't stop them from grabbing your muggle-born arse."

"You lot are all out here."

"We have written permission, and we know enough to put up a fight. You're too damn young, and I don't want to worry about you out here on the road or running around Hogsmeade by yourself."

"I won't run off," Juliet said, "I'll stay with you."

"Right, yes, let me just drag you into Hogsmeade with me so everyone can see us both breaking the rules. It will be easier for them to expel us at the same time, since they'll only have to arrange for one train ride back to London."

Juliet crossed her arms. Rosaline confronted blue eyes that matched her own. She leaned down until she was at eye level with her sister. "I know you think this isn't fair. It's not, alright? But it's the way things are."

"We'll bring you back something," Lara offered.

"I don't want any fucking Chocolate Frogs."

Rosaline grabbed Juliet's arm. "Where did you hear that word?"

"From you. Every day."

"Don't be smart. Listen to me for a damn minute and stop-"

"No," Juliet said. "You're not mom."

Rosaline let go of her sister. The last time Juliet had mentioned their mother was when she was six years old; a year after she was killed.

"That's not fair," Rosaline said, straightening back to her full height, "and you know it."

Juliet knew she had crossed a line. She dropped her arms and took a step back from her sister. "Ros, I didn't mean to-"

"Just go back to the castle, alright?"

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-"

"Go. Now."

"You can't leave her without a wand, Ros," Samantha said. "There's too much distance between us and the castle, and if you're really worried about the Death Eaters-"

"Fine." Sam was right. Rosaline pulled the blackthorn wand out of her pocket and handed it to Juliet. She kept her grasp on it and said, "We'll talk tonight."

Juliet nodded and took her wand. She walked away and left the older girls on the road.

Rosaline watched until her little sister was out of sight.

* * *

**April 1978**

Lara ran down the main third floor corridor – following the screams. 

"What is she doing to him?!"

"How do we stop her?!"

Students crowded the entrance to the Charms classroom, but they couldn't get any farther. Lara shoved past people until she saw why.

A shield – glowing white – covered the doorway.

It came from Juliet's raised wand. Her other hand was on the forehead of a sixteen year old boy – and she wasn't letting go. 

A student shot a spell at the shield. It ricocheted and came back at everyone's heads.

Lara recovered from the projectile and looked past the shield. She took out her wand.

Juliet's eyes were closed. The boy's eyes were dilated.

_what is she doing to him_

Juliet maintained the constant casting of the shield without opening her eyes.

Lara yelled, "Juliet! Stop! Get off of him!"

If anything, Juliet only tightened her grip on the boy's head.

The corridor wall next to Lara exploded. She turned in time to see her classmate – Severus Snape – go through the opening he had just created, bypassing Juliet's barrier. Lara was right behind him, squeezing into the classroom through pulverized stone and mortar.

Severus pulled Juliet off the incapacitated boy.

The shield vanished. Juliet – and her disoriented victim – screamed.

Severus grabbed the boy to keep him from falling. Juliet looked sick. She fell against a desk and dry heaved.

Lara shoved her wand in Juliet's face. "What did you do to him?!"

Someone in the doorway said, "She attacked him."

Juliet ignored Lara. She wiped her mouth and spat at Severus, "You . . . you could have damaged both of our minds, pulling me off of him like that!"

As if Snape knew what Juliet was talking about. Before he could respond, Rosaline shoved past him and aimed her wand at her sister. "What are you doing?!"

"Finding out if I was right," Juliet said, still drooling.

"You said you'd never do this again. You promised me."

"She's done this before?"

Rosaline ignored Severus. "You promised, Juliet."

Rosaline's raised wand shook. And she didn't get any closer to her sister.

The boy said, "She was in my head. She was _inside_ my head."

"Jules, tell me you didn't-"

Juliet raised her wand and aimed it at the boy's face. "I know what you've been doing, you bastard; sending messages to the Death Eaters and spying on the lot of us. I'm going to get you alone again, just wait. I'll get even _more_ inside your head; past the shit I saw – past your daddy who doesn't love you and your sick mother, and your twisted fantasies about You-Know-"

Rosaline hit Juliet with _Stupefy._ Juliet collapsed.

"Jesus Christ," Lara said. "What the hell was she doing to him?"

Rosaline shot her friend a warning look. "Not now."

Rosaline turned to the boy. "What did she mean? About you sending messages to the Death Eaters?"

The boy still looked out of sorts. "I don't know what she was on about, honest. I was just in here looking for my Potions book when she grabbed me. I . . . she trapped me in my head. Is that possible? She made me watch . . . watch my sick mother . . . "

Snape said, "I will take him to see Madam Pomfrey. Clearly, whatever your sister did to him was . . . traumatic."

Rosaline stood over Juliet's unconscious body and faced her classmate. "Are you going to tell Pomfrey what happened?"

"I think doing so would be best for everyone," Snape said. "I will tell Pomfrey and Professor Dumbledore."

"He isn't here," Rosaline said, "so go tell someone else, if you have to."

The boy leaned on Snape. "If she tries to grab me again-"

Rosaline asked him, "What's your name?"

"Barty."

"Barty, if she tries to grab you again," Rosaline said, "run."

* * *

**April 1991**

Frank's Sandwich Bar sat at the corner of Kensington High Street and Addison Bridge Place, above two Underground lines. Juliet walked inside thirty minutes after she had told Lara to be there. She'd watched the older witch go inside, order a plate of ham and eggs, and take one of the seats facing the road; trying to hide her nerves. 

Apart from the man behind the counter, no one else was inside the café. Juliet muttered under her breath and enchanted the lone cook with the Muffliato Charm.

Juliet wasn’t hungry. She walked past the glass cabinet filled with pastries and pulled a chair up next to Lara.

Lara jumped.

"If you still feel so uncomfortable around me," Juliet said, "why didn't you ask me to meet you in Hogsmeade? That way, Adam and the rest of your townies could have kept an eye on me for you."

"Would you have come if I did?"

"Can't say I would have," Juliet confessed. "What do you want Lara? If this is about how I should go make nice with my big sister-"

"This isn't about Rosaline."

"That'll be the day."

"Well, she isn't why I'm here."

"Then what do you want?"

"I want you to tell me about the muggle-born trace. And the registry."

"I can't talk about anything connected to The Ministry or to what I-"

"Why not? It's your trace, isn't it?"

"It's a classified tool we are using to find patterns in the killings and ensure that muggle-borns are-"

Lara laughed. "Do you honestly believe that?"

"We've kept you safe enough."

"So it is your trace."

Juliet didn't respond. 

Lara pushed her plate to the side. She hadn't touched the eggs. "Well done. Your trace eliminated the need for a Muggle-Born Registration Commission Act. You've accomplished what no muggle-born ever has - you bypassed the entire Wizengamot to push your agenda."

"It wasn't supposed to be used like this. We were using it to keep muggle-borns safe before it got twisted into what it is now."

"You've created the very method the killers are using to find our people."

"You have no idea what you're talking about, Lara."

"They are using your trace, Juliet."

"No, they _copied_ our trace. Because my damn supervisor couldn't keep her damn-"

"So, destroy it. Destroy the registry."

"That won't stop any of this now. Say I do. Say I walk into The Ministry right after I leave here and tell Cassio that our damn trace has run its course. Say we destroy it and burn the registry. It will leave us in the dark. The killers will still have their version of the trace. We won't know where our people are, or who they are, but the killers will. And that will just be to start things off. Now that muggle-born registration is mandatory, they'll drag Cassio and me before the Wizengamot and make sure we never work as Aurors again for destroying the trace. Then, they'll find someone else to re-cast the trace and they will keep registering muggle-borns as if nothing happened. Destroying the trace and the registry does nothing."

"It would give us our autonomy back long enough to make them-"

"Make them what? Listen to you lot? Walk into the midst of your protests, throw up their hands, relinquish their power, and admit they were wrong? That we are more than dirty blood abominations to them? You are so naiveté, Lara. We lost our autonomy a long time before sociopaths were pulling knives across our throats."

"If you destroy the trace and the registry, it will send a message-"

"No," Juliet said. "The only message I can send to stop all of this is to do my job and drag the remaining killers bleeding and broken through the arrivals lobby. That is when this will be over."

"Now you're the naiveté one. They've made you one of them."

"Don't sit here and treat me like a blood traitor because I'm working within the system to end all of this, as if you've done anything besides make some signs and wipe mud on your body. Cassio and I are the only ones who have-"

"You keep talking like I'm supposed to know who-"

"-risked our lives and made progress. Go back to Hogsmeade where it's safe and wait for all of this shit to blow over, Lara. Wait for me to clean it up, because I've always been the one getting my hands dirty while you and my sister do nothing worth a damn. If anything, you've always just gotten in my way."

Juliet shifted in her chair. Lara jumped and pulled herself away, jostling her half-empty plate.

"You're still scared of me."

"Why would I be scared of you?"

"I don't know. I've never touched you. Was seeing what I could do that frightening?"

Lara didn't say anything. 

Juliet stood up and shoved her chair against the long table. "Tell Rosaline I'm alright. I got her note."

Juliet pulled the buzzing sound out of the cook's ears and left the café. 

She walked up Olympia and stood on the train platform at Kensington.

_"Destroy the registry."_

It was the way Lara had said the words; her particular intonation.

_"Destroy . . . registry."_

The words were stuck in Juliet’s head with a sandbox and floating dolls.

_FUCK ME SIDEWAYS_

_She's always wanted the registry destroyed. She tried to make sure it would be._

Lara was the one who had tortured Burke.

Juliet ran down Olympia and shoved open the front door of Frank's. It was empty. She checked the restroom – nothing. 

Juliet ran out on the streets and looked for Lara, but she was gone.

Juliet apparated to Rosaline's building and banged on her sister's door. 

No one answered.

Her wrist burned.

Juliet hated jewelry. She didn't like anything touching her skin apart from her clothes. She'd never even pierced her ears. She only wore the bracelet because Moody had made her, so all of them could communicate.

Juliet read the words engrossed on the silver band.

The message was from Aaron.

_Can you get to the rooftop? I found Renee Gaunt._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone lost? Wondering what I'm writing (me too sometimes)? Or am I, in fact, managing to tie all of these story line threads together? Because, to be honest, it just gets more interwoven from here on out as all the characters collide. 
> 
> If you're still with me, awesome - I can clarify whenever doing so is needed.
> 
> Yes, I'm a few drinks in. They were needed, too.


	114. Looking Glass, Part 1

**April 1991**

The bicycle left abandoned in the middle of a gravel-covered path in Sefton Park – with a wicker basket and a spinning tire – was long gone. It had been taken by an opportunistic passerby two months earlier; forty minutes after its owner died in the doorway of Flourish and Blotts. When Aaron walked the length of the trail in February – from where the gravel turned to brick and curved back on itself, to where it intersected the pavement of a parking lot – he hadn't found what he had seen at every other kill site: the remains of a mirror portal. Apart from the victim's blood, and the contents spilled from the bike's basket, kill site fifty-one had been left clean.

But the dying old man hadn't walked to Diagon Alley, so Aaron decided to manipulate the layer and find whatever it was he had missed. Standing in the North Tower, he took the illusion of the gravel-covered path he'd gotten off the victim – a trail lined with trees, benches, and lampposts – and pulled on it until he could see the extents of the park. On the other side of the trees, hidden from view of the path, stood a steel-framed Victorian structure surrounded by a fence. 

Aaron jumped into the expanded layer.

The greenhouse had been left in a state of disrepair; its entryway doors and arched, ground-level windows had been boarded-up almost a decade ago. Most of the glass panes were missing. The ones that remained were fractured and covered in grime.

Aaron ignored the _DANGER: KEEP OUT_ signs and climbed over the fence. He used a combination of the levitation charm and the detachment charm to remove one of the plywood panels. Once it was out of the way, he grabbed onto the building's steel frame and climbed inside.

He stepped down into standing water. Dead trees, plants, beer cans, and cigarette ends littered the greenhouse. Green, red, blue, and silver graffiti covered the concrete floor and steel columns – profanity, names, art, and phrases that meant nothing to Aaron. It was impossible to move without stepping on shards of broken glass.

This is where the killer _killers?_ had brought the old man. He was sure of it. Any of the structure's glass panes could have been used to create a mirror portal and shove their victim through to Diagon Alley.

Or, to transport themselves to and from Sefton Park.

Aaron raised his wand and concentrated on the incantation he'd learned from Moody and Juliet. An Archimedes Field surged from the end of his wand and collided with the remains of the steel and glass structure. Aaron watched the field until it distorted around a rectangular glass pane at the opposite side of the greenhouse. He kept his wand raised – holding the Archimedes Field in-place – and walked through the scattered debris and dead vegetation.

Aaron looked up at the intact mirror portal. Either the killers had gotten sloppy, or they'd left it for the Aurors to find.

Aaron let the Archimedes Field dissolve and used the same charms he'd used outside to remove the enchanted pane from its surrounding steel frame. He guided it through the air, lowered it to the concrete floor, and positioned it against one of the columns.

Apart from years of dirt and organic build-up, the pane appeared transparent – like any other old piece of glass.

Aaron stood across from it and tucked his wand into his back pocket. He wouldn't need it for what he had planned.

Aaron had worn the pages out of Chapter Nine of _Secrets of the Darkest Art_ , but he'd never attempted to create a mirror portal, and he'd never had an intact one to fuck around with. From what he'd read – and what Juliet had told him – shattered mirror portals _were_ dangerous. The remnants of magic left on the shards were concentrated and volatile. The Ministry had dispatched teams to clean up and destroy the fragments left at the Valentine's Day massacre kill sites before Aaron had thought to see if he could do anything with them. Finding an intact mirror portal was more than he could have hoped for.

_It’s intact because it might be a trap, idiot. Maybe they wanted someone to find this one and pull themselves through to oblivion._

But Aaron wasn't just someone. And he wasn't planning on climbing inside the damn thing. If his theory was correct, all he had to do was touch it.

Aaron walked up to the pane of glass . . . and nudged it with his foot.

The main thoroughfare of Diagon Alley assaulted him. Witches and wizards talking and yelling; carts rolling over cobblestone; owls diving through the air; and music coming from the open windows of The Leaky Cauldron. The layer was concentrated, vivid, and he had to focus to stop himself from getting pulled into it.

_I should have tried this with a damn portkey first instead of throwing myself in the deep end. Oh well._

At least now he knew he could pull locations off mirror portals.

Aaron let Diagon Alley surround him. The familiar street and shops merged with the glass canopy of the greenhouse until the shouts of the witches and wizards echoed off the panes. 

_But it's . . . obvious. It's where the victim was sent. There's Flourish and Blotts._

_Why leave it intact for us to find? Because it doesn't matter?_

If the portal only led to Diagon Alley, the killers wouldn't care if the Aurors found it.

_But then why shatter all of the other ones?_

Destroying a mirror portal wasn't as simple as breaking glass. The enchantments used to create the gateway bound the chosen reflective substance with concentrated, folded layers of magical energy and distorted space. Breaking those bonds took a lot of effort.

_I'd spend the effort . . . if I was trying to hide something._

But what? The only thing a mirror portal could hide was its destination.

_What if there's more than one? If whoever created the mirror portal can change the destination at will, what's to stop the portal from holding onto all of its potential locations?_

Aaron wedged his foot against the mirror again. He took the portal's layer of Diagon Alley – still lapped over the greenhouse around him – and felt for its boundaries; where the layer – the precise concentrated memory of a specific location – faded into the vague limits of distant space. When he had them in the grasp of his awareness, he pulled, and ripped them apart.

The layer of Diagon Alley wavered, stretched, and collapsed.

The effort of breaking space and detaching the location from the mirror shook Aaron's body. Sweat formed on his forehead and ran into his eyes.

But it worked. There _were_ more layers bound to the mirror.

Once Diagon Alley was stripped from the pane, the other destinations appeared. There were three of them: the arrivals lobby at The Ministry of Magic, an office Aaron recognized – by its layout of cubicles and striped green wallpaper – as kill site thirty-seven, and a room with floor-to-ceiling windows.

Aaron had never seen it before.

The layers shifted over each other – vying for control of the mirror portal and pulling at his skin. Aaron didn't need the pane to see them, and he didn't want to fuck with the magic bound to the portal any more than he had to. He moved his foot away and kept the layers intact; superimposed over the inside of the greenhouse. It was easier to keep them from tearing at each other – and him – when he wasn't in physical contact with the damn glass.

Aaron wiped the sweat off his face and pulled himself into the only layer he didn't recognize, leaving the greenhouse – and the mirror portal - behind.

He stood near the windows and waited to see if his arrival had disturbed anyone.

He didn't hear anything.

Aaron walked across the room – past a grand piano and a fireplace – where the next group of windows overlooked a terrace and a distant lake.

At this point in his – admittedly strange – life, Aaron had stopped asking himself where the hell he was every time he jumped into an unfamiliar layer. Fuck if he knew. This house could be anywhere. All he knew was that it was significant – someone had bound it to a dirty pane of enchanted glass inside a decrepit Victorian greenhouse. You didn't do something like that just for the hell of it.

Aaron took out his wand and walked into the adjacent room – a library. He scanned the shelves and recognized a few of the titles. Some of the books were ancient; bound in dragon hide and what Aaron now recognized – from experience – as chimaera scales. This was no muggle residence.

Aaron stepped into the hallway.

When he walked into the foyer, Renee Gaunt's portrait screamed at him.

"GET OUT! GET OUT OF MY HOME YOU VILE-"

_shit_

Aaron had tried using _Silencio_ on the fat lady enough times that he knew it wouldn't work. He left the foyer and walked through the rest of the first floor while the portrait demanded that he leave the house. Aaron ignored it and went through each room with his wand raised. 

No one was home, but the dishes washing themselves in the kitchen sink hadn't been there long.

Aaron walked back into the library. He took out a folded piece of black parchment and borrowed the quill and ink pot Renee had left on her writing desk. Moody and Juliet would both get his message.

Aaron summoned the rooftop in Edinburgh and pulled himself through.

He kept the illusion of Renee's house layered over his surroundings, and waited.

Until now, Renee Gaunt – like the rest of the killers – hadn't seemed to exist. There were no records of her at The Ministry, at any of the schools Juliet had contacted, or in any of the Gaunt family records. Juliet had met with dozens of members of the Gaunt family. None of them remembered having a family member named Renee, or a relation who looked like her – a late middle-aged woman with grey streaks in her dark hair. If the estate Aaron found had ever belonged to previous generations of the Gaunt family, it had been stricken from the records.

Moody appeared first. The _CRACK_ of his arrival still echoed in the air when he walked up to Aaron and asked, "Where did you find her?"

It had been a few weeks since Aaron had seen Moody. He looked like he still wasn't sleeping for shit. None of them had been since the massacre.

"I found her house," Aaron clarified. "It's an old estate somewhere in the country. She wasn't home, but she wasn't gone long. If she comes back, I'll see her. I've got the layer summoned around us now."

"Good fucking work," Moody said. "How did you find her house?"

Aaron said, "You won't like my answer."

"I'll not like you keeping your means and methods from me a fuck of a lot more."

Aaron said, "I pulled the location off an intact mirror portal I found near one of the kill sites."

"You fucked with a goddamn mirror portal?"

"I didn't stick my arm inside of it or anything," Aaron said, "I just touched it enough to get the locations off of it."

"Aaron, that thing could have-"

"I know, and I-"

"I don't think you do know. Mirror portals are volatile and they-"

"And they use space manipulation principles and spells," Aaron said. "If anyone should be fucking with them, it's me."

"In a controlled environment, not out in the field without anyone around to make sure you don't tear yourself apart or end up getting pulled into a vacuum. How did you even know you could pull anything off a mirror portal?"

"I didn't," Aaron confessed. "I just knew the spells used to create them bind locations to the portals and trap specific destinations within the glass. I thought I might be able to access the bound locations because of what I can do, and I was right."

Moody said, "You picked a reckless way to figure out that trick."

"Don't you think it's a good trick to have if we're going to keep finding these damn things and hunting for people who are this proficient with them?"

_CRACK_

Juliet appeared a few meters from where they stood. "Where is this twat?"

"I've got her estate in my sights," Aaron said. "I'll know as soon as she comes back home."

"You found her house? How did you find her house?"

"He pulled it off an intact mirror portal."

"You can do that?"

"It's a . . . new trick."

"It's a good one to have with all these damn mirrors making appearances across the country."

Aaron said, "I thought so, too."

Moody shot him a look that said their conversation wasn't over.

Aaron heard a distant _CRACK_ and realized it came from the layer he'd left open. He pulled on Renee's estate until he saw her. She had apparited into the room with the grand piano and the windows.

The portrait in the foyer screamed.

He had to get them to Renee before her damn animated likeness told her he'd been on a tour of the residence and she ran.

"I have her," Aaron said.

Moody and Juliet raised their wands. Aaron took their arms and pulled them all into the estate.

Aaron didn't wait for Renee to react to their sudden appearance. He jumped behind her. And grabbed her.

A waterfall cascaded over Aaron's head. The spray stuck to his skin. Renee's next location was the master bedroom he had walked through earlier. Aaron saw the office with the striped wallpaper and three more kill sites from Valentine's Day. A lake that wasn't the one outside. A small kitchen with a wooden table and three chairs. A dark hallway. A graveyard on a hill.

And Adesh Selwyn. Surrounded by the darkness of what appeared to be catacombs.

Renee forced her wand into Aaron's shoulder, and hit him with a concussive blast that sent him flying away from her and crashing into the grand piano. She projected a shield in time to deflect the spells cast by Moody and Juliet, and disapparated.

Aaron – still on the floor and pinned against the front legs of the piano - tore Renee's layers apart and watched her appear inside an Underground station. He got to his feet, grabbed Juliet and Moody, and pulled them all after her.

Muggles – five, six, seven of them, walking towards the station's exit – gasped as Renee and the three of them appeared out of thin air. Moody hit the lot of them with what Aaron assumed was _Obliviate_ and started to explain their new realities. 

Aaron and Juliet ran after Renee.


	115. Looking Glass, Part 2

**April 1991**

Renee Gaunt ran down a hallway inside of Russel Square Station ahead of Aaron and Juliet, clutching her wand. She pushed past a cluster of muggles, shoved a woman into a wall covered with black, white, and turquoise rectangular tiles and deteriorated advertisements, and kept going. The muggle woman's arm and shoulder would be covered with purple and green welts from the impact for the next week and a half.

Aaron moved fast to avoid the – now screaming - woman Renee had shoved out of her way and into his path.

Juliet saw a break in the crowds ahead of them and took it, passing people heading out of the station. She ran down the hallway with Aaron behind her.

The hallway terminated into an intersection of two other passageways. Renee went right, passed the lifts, and ran into a stairwell.

A sign warned, _"This staircase has 175 steps. Equivalent to 15 floors. Do not use except in an emergency."_

_Oh. Wonderful._

Aaron followed Juliet into the stairwell, and was hit with vertigo. He grabbed the handrail. The spiraled steps were tapered – narrow on the right and wide on the left – to accommodate the twist of the descent. He stayed left. Making his way down the uneven surfaces with the layers he'd pulled off Renee – and the layer with Selwyn – superimposed over his reality was still going to be a pain in the arse. Aaron tripped, slid down six steps, and collided with the wall in front of him. He'd have to slow down if he didn't want to break his legs. It was either that or suppress the layers and risk losing Renee if she apparited again, or lose his clear sight of Selwyn. 

Two stories beneath him, Juliet took the steps two and three at a time. She was gaining on Renee, until she ran into a confused muggle wearing athletic shorts and holding a Walkman. Damn fool was running the stairs for exercise. Juliet jostled past him.

She'd lost sight of Renee.

Juliet yelled behind her, "Did she disapparate?"

Aaron stepped around the runner.

Renee hadn't appeared in any of the other locations Aaron had pulled off of her, so he assumed she was still on the same nightmare cardio program they were. 

"No," he yelled, "keep going."

Aaron slipped again and swore. He felt like he was inside a goddamn fun house.

Juliet's hand slid over the tile wall as she descended, falling into a pattern of hitting every third step, watching the stairwell twist ahead of her.

Renee hit the bottom of the staircase and ran down a short hallway onto a crowded station platform. The train arrived as she shoved her way through the crowd.

Juliet came tearing out of the stairwell. She ran down the hallway and into the crowd, looking for Renee. The older witch was halfway down the platform, shoving people out of her way.

Aaron staggered out of the stairwell and ran out onto the train platform, still trying to keep the layers from taking over his surroundings. He collided with a commuter on his lunch break and was assaulted with –

An office with windows and sunlight. An empty pub with a stage and a long bar. A neighborhood street with brick houses and walls and sidewalks. A garage with a car covered in canvass. A medical facility where an old man sat by a window.

Aaron forced the man's locations out of his mind and banished them from his sight. He couldn't afford to pull layers off everyone he ran into – he'd never make it across the damn platform. He concentrated on suppressing anything that wasn't the locations he needed, and ran into the crowds.

The train doors opened. People disembarked. Juliet and Aaron worked their way through the new crowds and the people waiting to board.

Juliet thought Renee would get on the train, so she went right and stayed close to the cars.

Renee had a different plan. She ran to the far end of the platform and jumped down onto the tracks behind the train.

Juliet leaped down and landed between the rails. The tracks were electrified. The third rail – the one spanning along the far wall – carried hundreds of volts of current. Juliet tried to keep that in mind as she chased after the old witch.

Aaron landed between the rails and ran after Juliet and Renee, into the darkness of the train tunnel. The only light came from scarce utility lights covered with wire cages. He could see Renee's dark outline ahead, but it was too dark to jump ahead of her without worrying about landing on an electrified track. His footing already left too much to be desired.

Juliet wished she'd paid attention to the timetable on the platform. It could be ten minutes before the next train came barreling toward them . . . or it could be two.

_Enough fucking around. Take her out._

Juliet raised her wand and sent _Stupefy Stupefy Stupefy_ blasts of red light into the tunnel. Renee turned and fired three spells of her own back at Juliet. Two of the blasts collided and exploded. The tunnel shook. Juliet – still running - brought her wand over her head and sent a constant stream of hot, white energy at Renee.

The old witch sent orange waves of force at Juliet, locking the witches in a torrent of conflicting assaults.

Aaron raised his wand and tore it in a fast arch, pulling it along the electrified rail. He used a channeling spell to send the voltage airborne. The energy jumped off the rail and went into his wand. The force shook his body. He directed the arcs of electricity down the tunnel. His onslaught combined with Juliet's and overpowered Renee's spell. The impact shoved Renee down the narrow strip of concrete between the rails, lifted her body into the air, and sent her flying into a wall.

Aaron caught up to Juliet. They ran with their wands raised, looking for movement in the darkness.

They needed more light.

Juliet tore her wand in fast circles. A glowing fox materialized from the end of her wand and surged ahead of them, bounding off the tracks and walls.

Aaron and Juliet ran after her patronus.

Renee had gotten to her feet, but the impact with the wall had broken her ankle. She limped down the tunnel. Juliet's fox caught up to her and nipped at her swelling heel.

The ground shook. 

So did the walls.

The tunnel flooded with light from an oncoming train.

The tunnel was narrow. There weren't any alcoves. There wasn't anywhere to go -

\- and, yet, there was everywhere to go.

Aaron took Juliet's arm, summoned the Forbidden Forest, and pulled them through. The train barreled through the space they had just occupied. Both of them felt the air it displaced as it passed through the tunnel's layer. Aaron kept his hold on the rest of the locations; Renee's layers, the catacombs, and the train tunnel. He superimposed them over the clearing around them.

Juliet could hear the train, the crash of a waterfall, people shouting, and traffic. Her body shook as Aaron distorted space. The onslaught of locations left her disoriented, nauseous, and fascinated. She extended her shaking hand towards the layered illusions; it felt like she could touch the train and collect the falling water in her palm.

Her voice wavered against the uneven pockets of space. "Is this what it's always like for you?"

"Only when I hold onto multiple places at once," Aaron said.

"It's . . . " Juliet watched her hand glitch through folded space. " . . . this is amazing."

They were everywhere – and nowhere. Aaron kept a firm grasp on Juliet's arm.

"How long have you known where Selwyn is?"

"I saw him when I grabbed Renee," Aaron said. "Wherever he is – wherever it is that you are seeing – he hasn't left. Not yet."

"We need to stop this bitch before he does."

The train passed.

Aaron pulled them back into the tunnel.

Renee had levitated herself against the ceiling to avoid the train. She came down as Aaron and Juliet appeared; visible in the illumination of the train's brake lights.

Juliet fired another round of stunning spells at the killer. Aaron aimed his wand at Renee and released a concussive blast of energy. The spells ignited the tunnel enough for Aaron to see. Renee had stopped running.

Aaron manipulated the space she occupied, folded it, and pulled her through to where they stood. Renee collapsed and screamed – from the shock of what Aaron had done to her and the pain of landing on her ankle.

Juliet hit Renee with _Petrificus Totalus_. Aaron cast the levitation charm. The killer's paralyzed body floated in the air between their raised wands.

Juliet wiped sweat off her forehead. Aaron did the same. Their breaths fogged in the humid, stagnant tunnel.

Aaron suppressed Renee's layers. Without the strain of holding onto them, his surroundings – and sight – stabilized.

"Holding cell five is empty," Juliet said.

Aaron summoned the detention block at The Ministry of Magic –

\- and pulled all three of them through.

Juliet used the shackles and chains anchored to the concrete walls and floor to secure Renee's motionless – and still floating – body. They weren't done.

She clasped the last shackle on Renee's wrist and asked Aaron, "Can you still see Selwyn?"

"Yes."

"Is it a trap?"

"He has no way of knowing I can see him, or that I have his location," Aaron said. "But I'm also not sure he's alone. There's an entire network of underground passageways and rooms. I can see cots and tables. People have been sleeping wherever this is."

"Can you see Moody?"

Aaron summoned Russel Square Station from his own – very recent - memories. He scanned the hallways, alcoves, staircase, and the train platforms. He should have grabbed the old Auror when they went after Renee. Now, he'd lost him.

"No."

"Moody can take care of himself. He'll likely come back here, once he can't find us."

Juliet faced him. "If you're not depleted, I'd prefer to go after Selwyn before he leaves wherever he is."

"I'm fine," Aaron said. He stuck out his hand. "Let's get this bastard."

The catacombs pitched toward them, blurring the extents of space. The underground tombs turned bunker were farther than Aaron thought. The distance choked him.

Wherever they were, it wasn't in the United Kingdom.

Aaron staggered as they appeared.

Juliet was fine. She fired a blast at Selwyn's confused face. Adesh stumbled backwards to avoid the attack and screamed profanities at them, fumbling for his wand. One of Juliet's spells singed his arm. 

Adesh ran away from them, down a tunnel lined with dirt and loose rock. He'd managed to get his wand out of his coat, and sent a wave of energy at the young witch and wizard who had disrupted his afternoon. He recognized both of them.

Aaron had recovered from the jump. He summoned the farthest edge of the tunnel he could see and pulled himself through – trapping Selwyn between him and Juliet. He raised his wand and sent an explosive blast of energy at the killer. It hit Selwyn, and sent him hurling to the ground. Juliet and Aaron assaulted him from opposite ends of the tunnel.

Trapped, Adesh raised his wand –

\- and collapsed the tunnels around Aaron and Juliet. 

Cut off from each other – and the killer – they ran from the falling dirt and rock. Juliet managed to catch some of the debris in a levitation charm, but the integrity of the tunnel had been compromised. She ran back to the room where they had first encountered Adesh.

Aaron sent the blasting spell at the falling dirt and rock, trying to keep it away from his head while he ran down the tunnel. The tunnel terminated in a chamber. Three more tunnels branched off from the massive room. Encased tombs lined the walls. There were hundreds of them.

Aaron was about to summon the room he had first jumped them into – and find Juliet – when a concussive blast threw him – face first – into a wall of stone coffins. The impact broke his nose. And something in his chest fractured. Blood ran into his mouth. Aaron grabbed his face and choked, pulling air back into his compressed lungs.

He saw his attacker across the chamber – a wizard he'd never seen before.

Aaron jumped –

\- and appeared behind his assailant.

The other wizard was ready for him. He turned, raised his wand, and shoved it into Aaron's neck.

Aaron's body went rigid – and fell backwards.

He'd been paralyzed with _Petrificus Totalus_.

_oh FUCK_

The other wizard leaned over him, and kept his wand aimed at Aaron's head. "Theshan said to keep an eye on you. He said you liked to . . . appear suddenly."

_Shit. I fucked this up._

"It's not fun, is it? Not having any control over your own body? I apologize. I know how awful it is from prolonged experience, believe me, but I couldn’t have you touching me."

Apart from breathing, blinking, and feeling his heart pound, Aaron's options were limited. The blood from his nose ran down his face and into his open mouth.

"When Theshan told me who you looked like, I'll admit that I didn't believe him. I never thought . . . but it's _uncanny_. Has no one else seen the resemblance?"

The wizard shoved his wand into Aaron's neck, and twisted it until Aaron struggled to breathe. "I'd kill you, but you're already ours, Aaron."

Aaron couldn't move his body. But he could move space. Could he –

\- yes, he could. He could summon the layers. 

He summoned the room where they had first appeared, and folded space until his paralyzed body tumbled through. Juliet ran towards him.

He could tell from her expression that – for a second – she thought he was dead. When she realized he wasn’t, she waved her wand over him _Finite Incantatem_ and broke the spell. Aaron gasped and sat up.

Something gave way. The room shook.

Dirt and rocks disintegrated and fell on top of them.

The catacombs were collapsing.

Juliet pulled Aaron to his feet.

Aaron pulled them both back to The Ministry. They appeared in the hallway outside of Madam Bone's office; choking on dirt and debris.

Aaron leaned against a wall and wiped blood off his face and mouth, and retched on the wood floor, sick from pushing himself so hard. And from his realization. 

_They know who I am, and they know what I can do._

It was why – until now – he hadn't been able to find the killers in any of his layers. It was why the killers hadn't returned to the circular stone room, or to any of the locations he had pulled off of their cohorts.

They knew he was watching them.


	116. The Daily Prophet – 7 May, 1991

**_Gaunt_ ** **_Executed - Two Killers Remain at Large_ **

_The Wizengamot did not waste any time during yesterday morning's trial of Renee Gaunt. Gaunt, who has long been wanted for her known involvement with the muggle-born killings, was charged with the deaths of over fifty muggle-borns, including nineteen who were killed during what has now become known as the Saint Valentine's Day Massacre. Gaunt was sentenced to the same fate as Madelyn Bulstrode and Joseph Flint, and was led directly out of the dungeon to the Death Chamber. Despite calls from muggle-borns to make Gaunt's execution a public affair, her final moments were observed only by a select few employees of The Department of Magical Law Enforcement who ensured the sentence was carried out as intended. Unlike her victims, Gaunt was reported to have spent her final moments laughing in a state of ecstasy as her body disintegrated._

_With Gaunt eliminated, and Carrow rotting in Azkaban, only Theshan Nott and Adesh Selwyn remain at large. However, February's bloody events have left the magical community concerned and wondering if there is more that the Aurors are hiding. Despite the official statements released by The Department of Magical Law Enforcement, stating that the Dark Marks observed throughout the United Kingdom after the slaughter of seventy-eight muggle-borns were nothing more than copy-cat spells cast by the killers to scare the magical community, many are terrified that the return of the well-known - and much feared - symbol indicates that the Death Eaters are attempting a resurgence._

_The Daily Prophet would like to remind all of our readers that You-Know-Who has been dead for nearly a decade. If the Death Eaters are attempting to prove that not all of them fell with their master, it is likely nothing more than a feeble attempt by a remaining fringe group who would like nothing more than to see our world plunged back into the horrors of war. Minister Fudge himself has stated that the rumors of the Death Eater's return is nothing more than cheap fantasies based on scare tactics being employed by the remaining killers. As such, any observed Dark Marks should not be taken seriously._

* * *

**_Threats of Violence Aimed at Protesters_**

_Verbal threats have long been a part of the protests that have persisted since the days of the Muggle-Born Registration Commission Act; however, multiple anonymous letters - promising violence against those who support the muggle-born agenda - have been received by The Daily Prophet in recent weeks. We will not publish the letters, and have already handed them over to The Department of Magical Law Enforcement for review and analysis; however, we will go on record that the absolute vulgar, profane, and violent nature of the letters have made us feel that a warning is necessary. While we cannot expect anything we say to keep protesters out of the arrivals lobby and away from Diagon Alley, it should be known that any muggle-borns raising signs or marking their bodies with words of protest will be taking their own safety - and potentially their lives - into their hands should these threats become anything more than words written on parchment. It seems that the bloody results of Saint Valentine's Day - and the rumored, and false, news of the return of the Death Eaters - has given those who support pure-blood supremacy a cause to return to their old ways._

* * *

**_Dumbledore Returns_ **

_While the whereabouts of Albus Dumbledore over the past two years remain unknown, his return to Hogwarts has been confirmed. Dumbledore will resume his position as headmaster this coming fall. At this time, it is unknown whether or not he will also return to claim his seat on the Wizengamot. Dumbledore has long spoken out against legislation that has been viewed as anti-muggle-born in nature. His return to the Wizengamot would provide a much needed boost to the muggle-born cause; however, his presence will also guarantee a more divided Wizengamot and a return to controversial means and methods. The magical community should wonder if Dumbledore's return is, in fact, a welcome event. Only time, it seems, will tell._


	117. Bad Omens

**May 1991**

Early morning sunlight filtered through the windows on the far side of The Great Hall. The Gryffindor table was loud and crowded. Charlie had overslept and Tonks had taken his usual seat, leaning over a stack of parchments filled with Aaron's handwriting.

She asked Aaron, "Are you sure this is everything the aptitude test covers?"

"I mean," Aaron said between bites of eggs, "I probably forgot one or two of the questions, but what you've got there is the bulk of it. It won't be hard for you. I took it last year and did fine. It doesn't cover anything you haven't already studied and mastered for our N.E.W.T.s, and you've outscored me on exams since we were eleven."

"What about the character test?"

"You don't need to know anything before you take it, and there's no way to study for it. It's entirely based on the individual. They just want to make sure you're not mental, a pure-blood fanatic, or a Death Eater."

"What's stopping people from hiding who they are?"

"The truth potion they'll make you drink before you take the test."

"They're going to give me Veritaserum?"

Aaron took a bite of toast. "It's the Auror way."

Charlie elbowed his way between two fifth years and sat down across from Aaron and Tonks. 

Aaron handed him the platter of ham he reached for. "Wood was looking for you."

"Shit, that's right," Charlie said, taking a forkful of ham, "I told him to find me at breakfast." 

Tonks hair flickered from blue to purple and settled on a playful orange. "Time to pass the torch, is it?"

"There's not much of a torch to pass, seeing as we haven't won the cup since 1986."

"The cup's not everything," Tonks said. "It's not like I played for shit while I was here either."

"You seemed to be playing well enough all the times you sent a bludger at my head."

Tonks smiled. "All in the spirit of the game."

"Yeah, well, I wish the spirit of the game had included either of our teams not getting flattened by Slytherin the last three years," Charlie said. 

Charlie leaned back and looked for Oliver Wood. He managed to get the younger boy's attention without throwing anything and waved him over.

Oliver walked up to him. "I tried to find you earlier and-"

"I overslept," Charlie said. "I need you to do something for me."

"Name it. Whatever you need."

Charlie reached into his satchel. He took out a battered journal, a worn patch, and handed them both to Wood.

Oliver looked at the Gryffindor Quidditch Team Captain's badge he now held. "No, no, no. Charlie, you can't just-"

"Make you the Captain? I can, actually. It's one of my duties, now that the season is over, along with my lackluster Quidditch career."

"Lackluster? The Cannons and the Tornadoes have been tripping over their brooms to hand you contracts."

"I turned them all down. Look, you know my head's never been in Quidditch. I'm good on a broom, and I'm a decent seeker, but I'm not-"

"Decent? Are you mental? Merlin's ball sack, you're the best bloody-"

"I'm decent," Charlie said. "And I've always been a shit Captain. I've got too many plans that have nothing to do with Quidditch. So, do me a favor and take over the mess that is my legacy."

"I can't, Charlie. I'll only be a damn fifth year."

"Well, Johnson is too young, and Fred and George will just make a joke of it. You're serious. They could use a little serious."

"Micah has played longer than me and-"

"He'll be a damn sixth year and I'm still not sure he knows what a chaser is supposed to do. Kick him off the team and find a replacement. Maybe Bell? She's young, but she's wicked fast."

"I'll still need another chaser."

"You'll have your work cut out for you."

"And a seeker. How the hell am I supposed to find a seeker who can match you on a broom?"

"Like I said, you'll have your work cut out for you. But, if you don't get _too_ serious and kill the lot of them with daily practices, I think you've got a shot of turning the whole damn team around. You can't do any worse than I did."

Tonks took a bite of ham. "That's the bloody truth."

Charlie pulled a face at her.

She stuck out her tongue at him. ”Oi, you said it, not me.” 

Wood flipped through the journal. Some of the parchment was stained from years of contact with rain, mud, and grass. 

"That’s got all my game notes and plays. Toss it if you find it doesn't work for you. I stole most of it from Bill anyway."

"I won't let you down."

"If you do, the twins will tell me all about your failures, so no pressure."

A barn owl flew into the hall and swooped low over the Gryffindor table. It landed next to Charlie's mug and tilted its head. Oliver walked back to his seat to get his books for class, and Charlie took the letter off the owl's leg.

_Charlie,_

_I hope I caught ya before you finished breakfast. Can ya come down to the stables? I know you got classes and all, but I could use a hand. Something has the Thestrals right spooked._ _Can't get 'em to calm down to save Merlin's arse. Had to tie 'em all up in their stalls to keep 'em from biting at each other and flyin' off. Never seen 'em act like this._ _Something's not right._

_\- Hagrid_

"Shit," Charlie said.

Aaron looked up. He'd zoned out when they all started talking about Quidditch. "What happened?"

Charlie reached across the table and handed him the letter. Aaron read it while he finished his eggs. When he got to the end, he passed it back to Charlie. "Do you want company?"

Charlie shook his head. "If something has them spooked, it would be best if it was just me and Hagrid. The Thestrals will get anxious if we crowd them."

"I'll make sure my class notes are coherent so you can borrow them later then."

"It's the least you could do. You owe me for all the times you've - quite literally – disappeared mid-lecture."

"Should I tell Flitwick and McGonagall the truth about your whereabouts or do you want me to make something up?"

Charlie stood and grabbed his satchel. "Tell them I'm having a nervous breakdown and screaming in the showers."

"Why the fuck would I do that?"

"It's what I tell them every time you're off finding yourself, or whatever it is Aurors do."

Aaron glared at him. "What would I do without you?"

"You'd still be throwing your wand in the fireplace and trying to figure out why the portraits are talking to you."

Aaron threw up a finger.

Charlie smiled at him and grabbed a piece of toast and some ham to eat on his way to the stables, and left The Great Hall.

The stables were on the far side of Hogsmeade, near the lake. Charlie took the gravel path down the hill. Low trees crowded the trail as he approached. 

A Thestral shriek cut through the spring morning. Charlie walked faster.

The stable doors were closed. Charlie heard hoofs pounding the ground and leather wings beating the air inside. He pushed the door open and closed it fast behind him.

Hagrid held onto the remains _looks like he chewed right through them_ of the reins attached to the bridle on Achish's head. The large male Thestral reared and kicked the air, flapping his wings against the closed stall doors along the main aisle. The rest of the flock - confined behind iron gates – did not sound like they were any happier.

Charlie made sure the doors were secured and walked up to Hagrid and the Thestral with a raised hand. "Easy, easy. It's alright, mate."

It wasn't alright. Achish used his wings to propel himself at Hagrid and Charlie. Hagrid lost his grip on the reins and swore as he dove for cover. Charlie hit the ground in time to avoid Achish's flailing front hoofs. The other Thestrals kicked at their stall doors and shrieked. The pitch of the disturbing sounds made Charlie cover his ears.

Achish ran towards the stable doors and tried to kick his way out to no avail. Some enchantment worked against him.

Hagrid got back on his feet and helped Charlie do the same. "Told ya, didn't I? They've been like this all morning. Don't know what the hell has got them all so damn spooked."

"They're not spooked," Charlie said. "They're hungry."

"Can't be. They haven't even touched their damn breakfast."

"They don't want oats and dead rabbits. They want whatever it is they can smell. They're lured by the scent of blood."

"Merlin's saggy left tit – I didn't think about that. I bet you're right, Charlie."

He knew he was. 

Achish turned, faced them, and pounded the ground. Charlie had no doubt that he'd try to charge them.

He raised his hands and walked forward. "I told you, mate, it's alright. Shhhhh. You remember me, don't you? The boy with the candied apples?"

The Thestral watched him – still pounding the stable floor and exhaling hard through his nostrils. He pulled his lips back to reveal a mouthful of saliva and bared fangs.

"You can smell it, right? The blood? Well, I don't see why we should stop you from getting what you want."

"Charlie, are ya sure-"

"It's alright, Hagrid."

Charlie approached Achish, still whispering to the animal and keeping his hands raised. He waited for the Thestral to calm down before he reached up and took off his bridle. Achish shook his head, enjoying the sensation of being unbound. Charlie rubbed his muzzle, dropped the bridle and reins on the straw-covered floor, walked to the stable doors, and shoved them open.

Achish bounded past Charlie and trotted outside. He stretched his leather wings and leaped into the sky. Charlie raised his wand and made a quick beckoning motion while the Thestral circled over his head, scenting the air.

Hagrid walked to the doorway. "With him all agitated, I don't know if he'll come back on his own."

"He won't," Charlie said. "He'll get lost chasing whatever is bleeding, so I'm going to follow him." _And make sure the source of blood isn't something that will attack Achish, or that he doesn't find whatever made something bleed and end up in the same state._

Charlie raised his left hand in time to snatch his summoned broom out of the air.

"Be careful, Charlie."

Charlie got on his broom. "I'll find whatever it is and bring Achish back."

He flew into the sky.

Ahead of him, Achish caught an updraft and soared higher. Charlie kept his distance. He wasn't surprised when the Thestral headed toward the Forbidden Forest.

Without gloves, Charlie realized his broom was in worse shape than he'd thought. It had been beaten to hell the last few years. The handle was stained, worn down, and splintered. He'd have to get a new one before he left for Romania. Maybe the sanctuary could send him an advance on his first paycheck.

Achish screamed and plummeted into the forest. Charlie dove after him.

The Thestral cut through the trees, scraping his wings, but not seeming to care. Charlie maneuvered fast to keep from getting knocked off his broom by the incoming branches. He found an opening and headed for the ground.

Achish landed and trotted into the woods with his wings folded tight against his body, navigating the narrow spaces between the undergrowth and vegetation. 

Charlie landed and ignited the end of his wand. He leaned his broom against a tree and followed the Thestral's glowing eyes into the darkness, stepping over dead branches and through deep layers of fallen leaves. He hadn't gone this far into the forest in a long time.

Something shimmered in the darkness ahead. It wasn't Achish's eyes.

_Oh fuck_

The Thestral lowered his head and started lapping up the thick, silver substance that had pooled over an exposed patch of rock.

_Unicorn blood_

Achish looked up at Charlie. Liquid silver dripped from his muzzle and exposed fangs. Charlie could have sworn the damn animal was grinning.

_Right. I'll have to add 'no hesitation to consume unicorn blood' to the documented list of Thestral traits._

Charlie patted Achish on the head. "Enjoy it, mate, but this isn't helping your creep show reputation."

The Thestral didn't seem to care. It only drank with more gusto.

Charlie held his wand up to the dark trees around him. He heard movement, but it wasn't any different from all the other times he’d spent in the forest. Something was always lurking just out of sight.

He walked towards another shimmering pool of blood. And saw more past it. Unicorn blood was smeared against the trunks of trees. It dripped from branches and leaves.

Achish followed Charlie, moving onto the next spatter.

Charlie kept his wand raised and followed the carnage. He started to run, following the trail and trampling the ground. He shoved his way past overgrown vegetation, cutting his arms and not caring. He'd seen enough to know the unicorn had lost too much blood. If it was struggling on its own somewhere ahead, he needed to hurry and find it before it bled out.

Unicorn blood soaked the soil and dead leaves beneath him as he ran, following silver pools of moonlight. There were silver hoof prints from where the bleeding animal had stepped in its own spilled blood.

Achish shrieked behind him – a sound of satisfaction from his sated bloodlust.

Charlie stopped. He found the unicorn. Its dead body laid on the ground, half pressed against the side of an outcropping of rocks.

_No no no no no_

Charlie dropped to his knees and checked the corpse, looking for wounds, gouges, protruding bones – anything to tell him what had happened. The only thing he found was a clean line across the unicorn's neck. Someone – or some _thing_ \- had pulled a knife across its throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, tomorrow morning I am driving back into the absolute devastation that is where Hurricane Laura hit. I don't have cable. Is all the storm damage, flooding, and displaced people still making the news? Because it is bad.
> 
> I am not sure when I will post the next chapter. I won't be on the road alone this time, so maybe I can write in the truck while my co-worker drives? IDK. Going to have to take it day by day.


	118. Confined Spaces

**May 1991**

The tunnel beneath the old stable was almost at capacity; muggle-born witches, wizards, and their allies pressed against each other and the stone walls. Their voices created a crescendo of noise that cut through the darkness bordering their gathering – past the ignited ends of more than fifty raised wands – and drowned out the distant sounds of dripping water and shifting soil.

Lara stood near the center of the crowd – on top a barrel Aleus had brought in from the Three Broomsticks to serve as a podium. The empty cask had become her stage. The low ceiling wasn't far from her head.

Lara looked at the mass of people and realized word had spread – there were a lot of faces she didn't recognize, mixed together with people she had known for years; for most of her life, or at least since 1984, when the Muggle-Born Registration Commission Act had been no more than a whispered rumor out of the Wizengamot dungeon; before any muggle-born necks had been cut open; when Samantha was still alive and they had all thought they could stop the persecution before it was made law.

Rosaline stood to her left. She nodded at Lara. It was time.

Lara turned her wand on herself and cast a voice amplification charm.

She called out across the crowd, "We have spent almost seven years meeting in back rooms, shuttered houses, and tunnels like this one, waiting for this broken magical world to listen to us; to embrace us as their own."

The tunnel went quiet. People stopped talking and turned to face Lara.

"We will never be accepted, or heard. We will always be marginalized and persecuted. We will always be hunted because they see our blood as tainted, and they see us as less-than, because we lack a magical heritage, even though we want nothing more than to be seen as equals and given fair representation."

"Our previous attempts to get the attention of the rest of the magical community have not always been commendable," Lara continued, glancing at Eni, who stood against the far side of the tunnel, holding Lee's hand. "We are not blameless. We have committed atrocities of our own. We've been impulsive and reckless in our attempts to shake up the magical world, and have found ourselves with blood on our hands. We got scared. And we tried not to repeat our past mistakes. We kept ourselves – and others – safe. While we did so, however, we also failed to stop the forward momentum of the system that is determined to keep us under its foot. I don't believe that anyone here tonight wants to start a war, but it seems that may soon be our only remaining option if we want to stay in this world without being registered, monitored, and slaughtered." 

Shouts of agreement echoed off the stone walls.

"As you all know, our only peaceful means of voicing dissent is now under threat. Instead of reacting to the threats received by _The Daily Prophet_ with a means of safeguarding our right to protest, The Ministry – to the surprise of no one here – has responded with a threat of their own. They plan to shut down the protests and make it illegal for us to gather in groups. They have already enacted a curfew and have limited our protests to two hours a day, occurring at a time when most of us are unable to leave work or leave young children at home."

Someone yelled, "Do we even know these threats are real?"

"Who's to say the _Prophet_ hasn't made all of it up?"

"The damn _Prophet_ would like nothing more than to see all of us off the streets and back in our houses like good mudblood citizens."

"Fuck the damn _Prophet_. The threats aren't real."

"I assure you all," Lara said, taking out a folded piece of parchment, "the threats are very real, and their intent is clear. These people want us dead."

Lara unfolded the parchment. The tunnel filled with rising voices.

Lara's voice carried over all of them. "I considered providing a summary of the letter I now hold in my hands – one of five sent to _The Daily Prophet_ – but it needs to be read in its entirety."

A man near Rosaline scoffed. "That's not one of the bloody letters. The Aurors would have never let one of them out of their sight, assuming the damn things are even real."

"This _is_ one of the letters. Someone working with The Department of Magical Law Enforcement came forward. They wanted to make sure we weren't in the dark about the nature of the threats being made against our lives. What I am about to read may scare some of you and ensure that you never come to another protest – or it might leave you ready for war. While the origins of the letters – according to the Aurors – are unknown, the messages are clear. We are not – and have never been – welcome in the magical community. Magic is power, as we all know, and those who have wielded it for centuries do not intend to share it with the likes of us."

"If you can't stomach the words I am about to read, then you need to reconsider your place on the front lines. If you chose to keep fighting, know that there are people watching who intend to destroy us."

Lara held the parchment up to the light coming from the ends of the raised wands surrounding her. The letter she held – like the other four – did not provide a greeting.

_"Nothing has thrilled us more than watching as – one by one – people with marred blood have been systematically removed from our world. With each opened neck, we have celebrated and commended the – at the time – unknown champions who stepped forward to do what needed to be done."_

_"Every time one of our saviors – who have been marked as killers – has been imprisoned or executed, know that dozens more of us have come together, prepared to take their places - and go a step further. We do not intend to leave the tainted remains of mudbloods hanging in the air as martyred effigies; instead, we will carve M's across their faces – from their foreheads to their chins. We will drain their blood and mix it with the mud it came from, leaving their bodies unrecognizable."_

_"Any mudblood who insists on walking among us in protest – on standing in OUR buildings and on OUR streets and speaking out against OUR world - will be dragged through the same places by their necks. We will take these protestors and tear open more than just their throats. We will make sure they are not paralyzed – and are able to scream – as they are broken. We will defile them as they have defiled our world."_

_"Make no mistake – the Death Eaters have returned. And Voldemort – and the purification of our world – will not be far behind."_

At first, the tunnel was silent. Hands covered mouths, wands were lowered, and a few people left.

The people who remained erupted – shouting and screaming in protest.

"I see those of you who have chosen to stay share my devotion," Lara said, folding the letter and tucking it back into her pocket. "Now is not the time to stop fighting. We are the only people standing between our kind and violent ends. When – and if – these bigots carry out their threats, we must be there – standing in the crowds – to defend our people."

* * *

Lara found Aaron in the dissolving crowd twenty minutes later. She handed the letter back to him. "I appreciate you letting me borrow this."

Aaron took the letter. "Juliet is still looking for you. Don't go home. And don't show up in Hogsmeade, or at the castle."

"Do you know what she wants with me? Is this about the train?"

Aaron shook his head. "The Ministry and the Aurors haven't linked you – or anyone – to the train attack."

"You won't tell them?"

"I haven't yet, have I?" Aaron looked away from her. He'd lost his respect for Lara the day Eni told him the truth about her involvement with the attack – and Peter's death. He'd only found Lara - and given her the letter - after he'd decided the protestors deserved to know the details of the threats, and that Lara was the one they would listen to. 

"The Ministry won't see the train attack as an accident, or a loss of control, even if they take your memories," Aaron told her. "They'll send you to Azkaban, or drag you right into a Death Cell. I don't want to be the one to hand you over to them and to indirectly kill you, despite how damaged your stunt with the mud left me, and everyone who was on that train."

"I should have told you-"

"It doesn't matter now, does it? You had more than enough reasons to take that attack to your grave," Aaron said. "Look, Lara, whatever Juliet wants with you, it doesn't involve the train, or anything she wants me to know about yet."

_What does Juliet think she knows, then? When she can't find me, will she go through her sister's head to find out what we have done?_

"Juliet will be looking for you at the protests, if she hasn't already set alarm enchantments imprinted with your face all over Diagon Alley and the arrivals lobby."

"I don't plan on showing up in public looking anything like myself," Lara said.

"If I thought you'd listen," Aaron said, "I'd tell you to run and forget about this whole world. You can't hide from Juliet forever."

"You don't know anything about Juliet, Aaron. I've known her since she was nine years old, since her sister and I used to spend holidays at each other's homes. With what she can do – she's dangerous. Rosaline and I spent a lot of time protecting other students from Juliet when we were all at Hogwarts. She was a scary kid. She used to go after people and make them relive their worst memories. Don't let her fool you – or get in your head."

"She's been in my head," Aaron said. "I'm not going to turn on Juliet, if that's what you want me to do. And I won't turn you over to her. I'm staying out of it, until I don't have a choice."

Lara looked at Aaron - trying to see the scrawny kid who had saved her cookies and left cassette tapes all over her kitchen. She'd lost him years ago.

"How much longer will The Ministry let you have a choice, Aaron? Do you really think working for them will stop any of the violence against our kind? That you won't become one of them?"

"The Ministry is shit, but there's also a lot of good people there who are trying to stop muggle-borns from being killed and persecuted. You said it yourself – protesting isn't getting muggle-borns anywhere. You need people working within the system to start breaking it apart from the inside."

Lara didn't want to break it apart. She wanted to burn the entire goddamn establishment to the ground.

"If there's any more threats or something I should know-"

"I'll do what I can for the protestors," Aaron said, "but I'm still not high enough on the damn Quidditch pole to get a lot of useful information."

"I appreciate anything you can tell me."

Aaron pulled off his ring. "You're right, Lara. I don't know Juliet, but I never really knew you either, did I? So, don't expect me to stand between her and you when all of this hits the fan."

Aaron vanished.


	119. Blurred Lines

**June 1991**

The coins Alastor Moody had picked up from Gringott's clanked together in his pocket as he walked across the second floor. Bones wasn't in her office, and no light came from the expanded room Cassio had created for himself at the far end of the adjacent hallway, but The Department of Magical Law Enforcement wasn't deserted for once. Aaron sat at one of the desks opposite Bones' office, wearing headphones and leaning over a book and five pieces of parchment.

Moody walked up to him. "I can't remember the last time anyone used one of these desks. You must have had to remove years' worth of dust and grime just to sit down."

Aaron lowered the headphones to his neck. Distorted music came from the speakers until he stopped the cassette tape. "You said I was going to change the whole damn way you did things."

"Bringing back office culture wasn't what I had in mind," Moody said. He looked at the parchments and recognized the words. "Any luck with these letters?"

Aaron shook his head. "The only thing handwriting analysis has told me – and keep in mind my very lacking experience – is what we already suspected. These letters weren't handwritten. Whoever sent them used a self-writing quill, which means shit, because that could be anyone in the magical world. I'm trying to correlate the syntax like Juliet taught me, but the enchantments in _Language Concepts for the Discerning Witch and Wizard_ haven't produced anything useful, and I still don't know what I'm doing. You and Juliet need to look at these again, not me."

"We looked at the letters when _The Prophet_ first handed them over to Bones. And Cassio did a full analysis. I didn't expect you to find anything we missed, but I figured it wouldn't hurt to give you some experience."

"Well, great, because I got shit else out of doing this," Aaron said.

Aaron wasn't wearing his ring. His skin vibrated; subtle and fast.

"How many layers are you watching?"

"I don't know. Fifteen, sixteen? I'm kind of just letting them cycle."

"Are they all layers you pulled off the killers?"

Aaron nodded. "And the arrivals lobby. And Diagon Alley."

"You're watching the protests."

Aaron stacked the letters and closed the book Juliet had given him. "I should be at the protests. People I care about are, so I make sure I can see them in case something happens. When something happens," he corrected. "It's only a matter of time. Even if whoever wrote the letters never follows through on their threats, muggle-borns and their supporters are ready to fight. If The Ministry doesn't stop monitoring them, and doesn't give them the representation they've spent years asking for, they're going to find a way to take it."

Aaron handed Moody the letters. "If the muggle-borns do try to go after The Ministry, where does that leave us? Because I'm not going to choose this place over the people – and my friends – upstairs. I won't be able to stay out of it, even if that makes me a shit Auror and threatens whatever career I’m about to have here."

Moody grabbed a chair from one of the other desks, pulled it out, and sat down across from Aaron. "When this shit hits the fan, our goal will be to do what we can to keep the violence at bay and to keep people – no matter what side they are on – from killing each other and hurting themselves. If you plan on standing between your friends and whatever is coming for them, I can't think of anything more Auror like for you to do. The Ministry hasn't been supportive of the muggle-born cause, but they also don't want more bodies. You won't be seen as acting against this department unless you raise your wand against a Ministry employee without a good fucking reason. That's the line. Do you plan on crossing it?"

"No," Aaron said, "but I also don't know where this is going to end or how far muggle-borns will have to take it before they're granted autonomy. And working for The Ministry isn't something I'm thrilled about."

"Being an Auror doesn't mean you'll be subject to the wants and whims of The Ministry, despite how much they would like that. If that was the case, I would have been dismissed and banned from this building years ago. Aurors are granted a wide range to operate within and, for good reason, we aren't required to report to anyone outside of this department. We are supposed to stand between this world and anyone who intends to destroy it, even if the threat comes from The Ministry. The Ministry was infected with Death Eaters and Voldemort sympathizers during the war. It was corrupt, and a lot of it still is. You saw the way Burke operated, and the way the Wizengamot has refused – for centuries – to let muggle-borns participate. We are supposed to stop dark wizards and witches – killers and sociopaths – even if it means hunting and detaining the people who sit in the dungeon beneath us."

Moody raised his wand and waved it in a beckoning motion. A cabinet opened in Bones' office and a bottle of Scotch whiskey floated through the air. Moody grabbed it, removed the cork, and took a drink. "During the war, I blurred all the lines between being an Auror and being a goddamn human being. Dumbledore wasn't lying – I hunted and tortured people I once considered friends and colleagues – people who worked in this office. One of them cost me my leg. I split my allegiances and loyalties the same way Frank and Alice Longbottom did, and joined The Order of the Phoenix when I stopped believing being an Auror was enough. So, when something happens, I'll be right there, not staying out of it with you."

Moody took another drink and handed the bottle to Aaron.

Aaron took a long drink. 

"Tell me about Nymphadora."

"Who?"

"Your classmate who applied to be an Auror. The one who listed you as a reference on her damn application."

"Oh," Aaron smiled, "you mean Tonks. She hates her first name. Won't bloody answer to it. She's brilliant."

"I was impressed with her academic record, but I'm asking if you think she can handle the job."

"She isn't scared. And she wants to fight, too. Talk to her yourself. You saw whatever it was you were looking for in me. If she's got it, too, then I imagine you'll know," Aaron said. "Also, she's a metamorphmagus, and she's good at it."

"That caught my eye. It would be nice to have a shapeshifter on our side for once."

Moody took a small pouch out of his pocket and handed it to Aaron.

Aaron pulled on the drawstrings. A handful of Galleons spilled into his palm. He had never held that much money - wizard or muggle - before. "What is this?"

"An advance on your first paycheck so you can buy equipment and get yourself settled. You'll need things like battle cloaks and a starter supply of the common potion ingredients we use in our day to day work. Cassio or Juliet can get you a list. Have you figured out where you're going to live?"

Aaron closed the pouch and nodded. "I'm going to stay with my friend's brother here in London for a bit. He works for Gringotts and he has a spare bedroom."

"Good," Moody said. "Let me know if that changes and you need a place to stay, seeing as distance doesn't matter much to you."

Aaron took another drink. "There's something else we need to talk about."

"What is it?"

"When I was in the catacombs chasing Selwyn, there was someone else. He knew who I was and he knew what I could do. I think all of the killers - and apparently whoever else they are working with now – have known for a long time."

"Who we are isn't a secret. They've been watching us as much as we've been watching them. We know they know Juliet's name, and where she lives. And as far as knowing what you can do, most of Hogwarts has known for years that you can apparate to places you've never been to and bypass wards."

"No, it's more than that. They know not to let me touch them, Moody. Whoever this man was, he said it to my face. He said my name and he said he couldn't have me touching him. They know."

"Outside of this department, who knows about your touch transfer ability? Who have you told, Aaron?"

_Charlie knows. His entire family knows. Eni knows. None of them would EVER say anything._

As far as he knew, Eni hadn't even told Lee.

_Maddison knows I can bypass wards and jump to places I haven't been to before, but I never told her I can pull locations off of people by touching them._

"No one who would ever repeat it; my closest friends who would take it to their graves. I haven't even told Tonks, and I won't until she's working with us and needs to know. I don't know how they know, but they know, Moody. It's why they haven't been returning to any of the locations I've pulled off of the other killers. They know I can see them, and they know who I am."

"Fuck," Moody said. He took the bottle from Aaron and took a drink. "Do you think this man you met knows that what you do isn't apparition?"

"No. How could he? I've never even told my friends the truth about what I can do. None of them know I've never actually apparated before."

"Has Juliet excavated your mind since the catacombs?"

"No," Aaron said, "she was busy with Gaunt's execution and I've been studying for next week’s exams."

"Have her do it as soon as possible. I want to know who this bastard is; who has been operating under our radar and who knew about your touch transfer."

Moody handed the bottle back to Aaron. "Are you still watching Dumbledore?"

Aaron nodded.

"Good," Moody said. "We need to make sure he doesn't come unhinged again."

"He spends a lot of time in his office, and standing on the corner of a muggle street called Privet Drive. Like he’s waiting for something.”

”Privet Drive? Are you sure?”

Aaron nodded, watching the layers and not entirely focused on Moody. ”I can see the street sign right now. Does the name mean something to you?”

”It does,” Moody said. “You’ve heard of the boy who lived?”

"It's hard not to," Aaron said.

"After his parents were killed, Dumbledore took him to live with his muggle family - on Privet Drive."

"Why is Dumbledore watching them?"

"Watching _him_. Watching Harry. James and Lily died when Harry was a year old . . . in 1981. So, he'll be-"

"Turning eleven. And going to Hogwarts."

Aaron handed the bottle back to Moody without taking a drink. He'd had enough to take the edge off and talking about Dumbledore was making him lose his taste for the whiskey. "The way he's already watching this kid . . . it's unsettling. I'm not convinced he's changed, not at all. And now I won't be there. My friends won't be there. I can't watch Dumbledore every minute of every day without making myself sick. He's dangerous, Moody. He shouldn't have been released from Azkaban without a trial, and Fudge reinstating him is insane to me. There's nothing to stop him from abusing and manipulating another generation of students. If I see him in the hallways, I can't promise I won't-"

"Don't confront him, Aaron. Keep watching him. As soon as he does something, we can bring him in again. Fudge can't ignore his crimes forever."

The chants of the protestors in the arrivals lobby and Diagon Alley picked up. They had fifteen minutes before the curfew started. 

Aaron opened the bottom drawer of the desk he'd claimed as his own. He set the pouch of coins, and his new modified Walkman, inside before closing it and hitting it with a secure locking enchantment. In a few months, Tonks wouldn’t even be able to open it with an enhanced version of _Alohomora_. 

Aaron told himself he’d come back for his stuff later. 

He was tired of watching the overlapping illusions of Eni and the others. He needed to be with them.

Aaron stood up. "I'm going to join the protestors in the lobby until the curfew starts."

"If something happens-"

"I'll find you."

Aaron walked past Moody.

"Is Dumbledore drinking again?"

"Not that I've seen," Aaron said, stopping in front of Bones' office door, "but that doesn't mean he won't chain someone else to a column."

Aaron took the stone staircase to the main floor.


	120. As We Are

**June 1971**

Sunlight refracted off the glass bottle and made blue light dance across the window sill. Abigail grabbed its neck and carried it across the courtyard to where the worn cobblestones met the grass. She set the bottle on one of the more even stones and looked around. If any of her neighbors were awake this early, they weren't making it obvious. The windows surrounding her were dark and shuttered. It was just her and the mourning doves.

Abigail walked back to her steps and sat down. She reached for her mug, took a drink of strong coffee, and faced the bottle.

_Move_

It had moved last night when she hadn't been anywhere near it. She'd been sitting at her table when she felt . . . something. In that instant, the bottle rocked on its base and tipped over, falling into the dish water she'd left in her sink. 

It wasn't a coincidence. She had made it fall.

Abigail set down her mug and kept her gaze on the bottle.

_Move for me_

_Fall on your side and spin in a circle like the game teenagers play._

Nothing happened.

She kept her attention on the bottle; the square, old medicine bottle she'd found in the park a few months ago, covered in leaves and dirt with a torn label.

_Move_

She tried to make it fall over. She tried to unbalance it.

_Come ON_

_Maybe if I focus more, if I –_

Abigail raised her hand and imagined the bottle overturning.

Nothing happened.

She lowered her hand and laughed at herself. _Well, this is damn foolish; sitting out here alone in the courtyard trying to move glassware with my mind like an un con._

_It's impossible is what it is; using . . . magic._

She looked across the courtyard at the house she shouldn't be able to see.

_It isn't impossible. Just difficult._

Abigail lifted her left hand and straightened her fingers, pointing them toward the glass.

_Now, move, damn you._

She'd had too much coffee. The warmth of it had spread through her face, down her chest, and into her arms – into her palm.

_It's not the coffee. It's the energy. Use it._

She rotated her palm. The bottle rotated; glass scraped against the cobblestone.

_oh DAMN_

_Do it again. Make it turn. Push the energy into your damn fingers and -_

Abigail flipped her palm over in a sudden, upward motion.

The bottle shattered.

Abigail jumped.

"Here," someone walking into the courtyard said, "try it with this."

It was her neighbor. They hadn't spoken since the night she'd confronted him.

He handed her –

_It IS a damn stick._

She took it anyway. "Did you take this off an elm on Rue Gambetta?"

"It came from London, actually."

"You took a tree branch from London?"

"It's a wand."

She laughed. 

"This is like some damn fantasy novel or-"

"I promise – it is very real." He looked at the pieces of glass littering the cobblestone. "I don't think I have to tell you that anymore. And what you just did – not everyone can direct the energy with their hands like that. When I was in school, I watched my classmates try to use magic without a wand and-"

"You . . . went to school for this? For . . . magic?" 

"Laugh again, if you'd like. I know all of this must sound insane to you."

"It didn't to you?"

He sat down on the step next to her. "I was born into this. Magic has been in my family for centuries. When I started using it – moving things by accident – it wasn't unusual. It was expected. I had thorough direction and advanced instruction."

Abigail turned the wand over in her hands.

He asked, "How long have you been able to do strange things? Has no one ever approached you?"

"Approached me?"

"There's ways of detecting when children use magic. You should have been detected. Someone should have found you and explained all of this."

"I wasn't a child. All of this just started a few years ago."

"That's not possible. Not unless my world is lacking some critical understanding of how magical abilities manifest. You should have been able to use magic when you were much younger – six, seven, maybe eight. Maybe you didn't realize what you were-"

"No," Abigail said, "I would have noticed if my damn bicycle or skates moved on their own or lifted into the air. Don't you think?"

"I . . . don't know. I didn't think it was possible for the magical world to overlook someone like this, or for magical ability to manifest this late in someone's life."

"There's a world, is there?"

"Did you think you and I were the only ones?"

Abigail looked across the courtyard. "Can your wife do the same things you can? Make buildings look like walls and flowers float through the air?"

He looked down. "She can do a lot more than that."

"I didn't mean to pry into your marriage the other night."

"It's not much of one, as you may have realized," he said. He reached for the wand. "Here, like this."

Abigail let him take her hand. He maneuvered her hold on the wand until it was steady and directed at the shattered bottle; until she could look down the wand's length and see the fragments of broken glass in her sights.

"You'll have to move it like this," he guided her hand in a fast, flicking motion, "and say-"

He took his hand off the wand and whispered the word into her ear to keep himself from casting the charm.

"What will happen?"

"If you focus – and take it seriously – you can pull the pieces of your broken bottle back together. Imagine what that would look like and make it happen. You know what the bottle feels like when it's intact in your hand. When you can feel its weight and visualize-"

Abigail flicked the wand at the pieces of glass. " _Reparo!_ "

The shards shook against the cobblestones and collided, fusing and scraping against each other to re-shape her bottle until it was made whole.

Abigail smiled and let out a shocked laugh, covering her mouth with her free hand. "Oh my God! Did you see-"

"You were brilliant."

Abigail raised the wand. "How do I make it shatter again? How do I make-"

A door opened and slammed. Her neighbor looked towards his house and stood up. "I can't stay."

Abigail held out the wand.

He shook his head. "Keep it for a bit. I'll make a list of charms and slide it under your door later with instructions so you can try them out. Just don't point the wand at anything you don't want to damage, or, Merlin forbid, turn it on yourself."

He walked across the courtyard.

To his back, Abigail said, "I suppose I should be grateful that you spied on me?"

He stopped, looked back at her, and let himself smile. "I should be grateful you didn't call the police. Maybe next time you'll even tell me your name."


	121. Fire Burn and Cauldron Bubble, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The events of the next few chapters were planned and outlined before the events of this summer. That said, I am adding a trigger warning for protest violence/police brutality as some of this got very real this year.

**June 1991**

_tick clang clink_

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The gears and sprockets encased behind the north wall of the arrivals lobby rotated against one another and slid into place, turning the hands and faces of a massive astronomical clock. The mechanisms powering the twenty-six foot tall timepiece oscillated in a state of perpetual motion, brought to life at the beginning of the eighteenth century by animation charms. When the clock was under construction, The Ministry of Magic had been nothing more than an excavation project in Whitehall - a chasm extending hundreds of feet beneath the surface of London - hidden in plain sight by powerful concealment spells. Less than ten years after the enactment of The International Statute of Secrecy, England's preoccupation with merging with Scotland and controlling the distant colonies had kept them from hunting for the witches and wizards who had vanished overnight.

But the magical world had never gone far.

_tick clang clink_

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Eni stood at the edge of the crowd of protestors and watched the hands of the clock align closer to the six o'clock position. They were almost out of time.

The lobby around her was loud and congested; filled with people and a constant drone of voices at different pitches and volumes. Footsteps and conversations echoed off the high ceilings and walls; fireplaces _WHOOSH_ erupted in green flames _WHOOSH_ every time a witch or wizard stepped inside; and carts filled with manuscripts and books rolled across the marble floor, driven by magic and escorting themselves between first floor departments. Owls swooped overhead, returning from deliveries and departing with more parcels and letters, soaring down from, and up into, shafts covered with open skylights.

Over all of this, the protestors chanted and screamed.

"WE'RE HERE NOW, CAN'T SHUT US UP, WE'RE FUTURE MINISTRY COVER UPS!"

"KEEP IGNORING US AND SEE – HOW FAST THIS WORLD CEASES TO BE!"

An hour earlier, a witch had taken one of the chairs from the guest waiting area and dragged it across the floor – making as much noise, and drawing as many stares from Ministry employees and visitors, as she could manage. She stood on the chair and screamed with her amplified voice, "Muggle-borns now make up more than thirty percent of the population of the magical community here in the United Kingdom, and almost forty percent worldwide! France, Germany, Ireland, Italy, the Czech Republic, and the United States have realized this and worked to ensure that muggle-borns are represented in their communities! Muggle-borns in Paris and Prague have been granted their own legislative assemblies! Here in the United Kingdom, we are still UNHEARD, UNSEEN, UNREPRESENTED, AND DYING!"

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Ministry security agents – standing in groups of three and four with drawn wands and battle cloaks pulled over their shoulders – watched the shouting woman and the protestors. The security agents had been stationed in the lobby to – in the words of Minister Fudge – guarantee the safety of the protestors. Instead, they only seemed concerned with monitoring the people chanting and screaming for their autonomy; making sure the muggle-borns and their supporters weren't going to cause any further disruptions.

The woman standing on the chair glared at them. "The people inside of this building have long refused to listen to us! We aren't asking to take over this world! We are asking to become an equal part of it and be granted sovereignty and representation! For centuries, the Wizengamot has refused to-"

Eni pushed her way through a group of wizards casting words of protest into the air - _"MAGIC DIES WITHOUT US"_ – _"HOW MANY MORE BODIES WILL IT TAKE?"_ – and walked back to where Lee and Oliver stood, watching the crowds – looking for any signs of trouble and for people who might mean them harm. If The Ministry wasn't going to protect them, they would have to protect themselves.

A Ministry employee – a wizard leaving for the weekend – walked past the protestors, pointed at the clock, and yelled, "Don't overstay your welcome! Better leave before you end up looking like the mudbloods who stumbled through here in February!" He dragged his index finger across his neck, smiling as he stepped into a fireplace.

Oliver said, "I hope he fucked up his destination and gets spit out of a backed-up toilet."

_tick clang clink_

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_Ten minutes,_ Eni thought. _Damn that clock._

"Are you both heading back to Hogsmeade after this, or are you staying in London?"

Lee looked at Eni. "We haven't talked about it yet."

Eni wanted to stay, but N.E.W.T.s started on Monday. "As much as I'd like to blow off my final exams, I should get back to Hogwarts and spend the weekend studying," Eni said. "I'll be lucky to pass Astronomy and Herbology with anything higher than grades of 'Poor' at this rate. My head hasn't been in either class this year. I'm never going to use the material after graduation, but I don't want failing grades to keep me in that castle another bloody year."

"It's a wonder you've been able to focus on classes at all, what with all this lovely shit," Oliver said. "What do you even need from Hogwarts anymore?"

"I need them to release my final transcripts once I pass so I can start college in the fall, now that I've got my GED," Eni said.

"How does that even work? The University of Liverpool just, what, takes transcripts full of classes that don't sound real? How to stargaze, grow plants that will make you deaf, and identify a hippogriff at one hundred meters? I should have applied. Maybe they would have ignored my lack of a completed secondary school education."

"The way McGonagall explained it, the course descriptions will be . . . modified to suit muggle schooling requirements."

"It's still shit she's holding a bloody transcript over your head when you don't need any of what they teach at Hogwarts in the real world. If you're just going to leave the magical world and-"

"I'm not leaving the magical world," Eni said, "especially not with it in this state."

"Tell him what you've got planned," Lee said.

"I've been talking to McGonagall about more than my future college career. I want to change the way muggle-borns are approached and brought into this world. No more last minute visits from professors who don't know what it's like to be born into a world without magic – how frightening, alienating, and confusing it can be. I want to create a network of muggle-born witches and wizards who can reach out to muggle-born children and introduce them to the magical world long before they have to pack a trunk for Hogwarts."

"When do you plan on coordinating all of this? Between protesting and studying for European History and Maths?"

"It will be a lot, but I won't be doing it alone. I'm already reaching out to older muggle-borns to see if they can be a part of the network. I want to get a group together in time to reach out to some of the First Year muggle-borns who will be attending Hogwarts and other schools here in the United Kingdom this fall."

"Be sure to tell them about the killings. And the mandatory registration requirements. And never being treated like an actual witch or wizard. Yes, Eni, go out there and invite the next generation into this wonderful world."

Lee elbowed her cousin. "Stop being such a damn cynic. These children have to learn how to use magic, and the best places to do that are still schools like Hogwarts. It's a shit world right now, but it's not any less shit being alone out there."

"I don't plan on sugar-coating this world, but I don't want any more muggle-borns feeling as damn lost as I did. I want them to have a network of people they can rely on to guide them through all of this."

"WE'RE HERE NOW, CAN'T SHUT US UP, WE'RE FUTURE MINISTRY COVER UPS!"

"KEEP IGNORING US AND SEE – HOW FAST THIS WORLD CEASES TO BE!"

"The damn security agents keep getting closer," Lee said, "just waiting to shove us all into the fireplaces as soon as our time is up. Protecting us my quarter-goblin arse."

"That's Ministry employees for you," Oliver said. He looked past Eni and Lee. "Well, most of them."

Aaron walked across the lobby and dodged his way through the crowds.

Oliver moved to make room for him. "Any luck with the letters?"

Aaron shook his head. "Just more of the same; threats, bigotry, and no clues as to who wrote them."

"What do the other letters say? Are they similar to the one you shared?"

"Do you really want to know? I can quote them if you want," Aaron said, "but I'd rather not repeat the absolute hatred and sociopathic words out loud if I can help it. It's going to take me long enough to get the paragraphs out of my head so I can sleep tonight."

"I'd rather not know then," Oliver said. "The one you provided us with was more than enough to get the point across. I – all of us really – appreciated that."

"It wasn't right to keep all of you in the dark; your lives are the ones being threatened."

"Yours, too, now that you're standing here with us," Oliver said.

_tick clang clink_

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Five minutes. _Chikusho._

"-representation is CRITICAL! We aren't asking for the whole damn Wizengamot! We only want to PARTICIPATE in our own bloody government and have a say in what is and isn't made law! We cannot keep-"

Oliver looked at Aaron and Eni. "Can I really not convince you right proper Hogwarts kids to go have a few pints?"

"I'm still not much of a drinker," Aaron said.

"I'll buy you as many damn sodas as you want, if you stay out for a bit."

_tick clang clink_

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_We can't get anything done in two bloody hours a day. They KNOW that. They don't want us here – of course they don't – we ARE disruptive. Our whole presence in their damn world is disruptive. Now, they've gone and made sure we are disruptive only within their set limits. It's such total shit._

"-and we are being shut out! We are being ignored! We are-"

_We are never going to get through to them unless we do something else. We have to do MORE than just stand here and shout until we lose our voices._

_And our futures._

_And our lives._

"-we must be allowed to sit on the Wizengamot and decide our own fate! We shouldn't have to be out here screaming to be heard and limited to hours when the members of the Wizengamot won't even see us! We have to-"

_She's right. She's bloody right. They'll NEVER see us anymore; they'll just read about us every once in a while on the back page of the damn Prophet._

"WE'RE HERE NOW, CAN'T SHUT US UP, WE'RE FUTURE MINISTRY COVER UPS!"

"KEEP IGNORING US AND SEE – HOW FAST THIS WORLD CEASES TO BE!"

_We have to do MORE. We can't keep going on like this. Nothing is getting better. And we keep dying._

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_We have to do something else. We have to do something they can't ignore. We have to –_

"We can't leave," Eni said.

Aaron looked down at her. "What did you say?"

"We can't leave. We have to stay here. At The Ministry."

Stained glass layers of enclosing faces – moons, stars, and mandalas – slid into place as the copper-coated iron hands of the clock reached vertical alignment.

_CLANG CLANG CLANG_

Eni kept her eyes on Aaron. "What will happen if we stay? Will the Aurors come and force us out?"

_CLANG CLANG_

"The Aurors won't get involved unless it turns into a bloodbath and we threaten Ministry employees."

"I don't intend for us to get violent," Eni said.

Aaron looked at the encroaching security agents. "They'll make it violent. They'll try to force us out, arrest us, and lock down The Ministry until they've got us under control."

_CLANG_

The lanterns burned high, casting bright light across tired and frustrated faces and signaling to all that it was time to clear out.

Oliver said, "Can the fifteen or so of them stop – what – thirty? forty? – of us?"

"Let's find out," Lee said.

A Ministry employee from the Information Desk amplified her voice and walked towards the protestors. "Thank you for taking another day to voice your thoughts and concerns. I must now ask all of you to leave for the night. You may return on Monday afternoon at four o'clock-"

Eni waved her hand over her mouth, casting a voice amplification charm on herself. She stepped out of the crowd of protestors and walked into the center of the main thoroughfare, standing near the woman on the chair and facing the Ministry employee.

"We're not leaving," she said.

The Ministry employee looked confused. She tried repeating herself. "You may return on Monday afternoon at-"

"We heard you the first time," Eni said, "but we're not leaving tonight."

The woman on the chair yelled at the confused woman, "That's right! We're not leaving!"

The protestors who had started heading towards the fireplaces turned to see what was happening. A murmur raced through the crowds.

The woman on the chair chanted, "WE'RE NOT LEAVING! WE'RE NOT LEAVING! WE'RE NOT LEAVING!"

Four security agents walked towards Eni and the woman on the chair.

Eni raised her hands, pushed her palms outward, and spread her fingers. A shield ripped from her palms and tore through the air, wrapping around her body. The boundaries flickered and cracked in the air as she walked towards the security agents. 

"We're not leaving," she repeated.

A different Ministry employee – one standing by the fireplaces – yelled, "Go back to the damn muggle world, you mudblood whore!"

Eni kept her hands in the air. She extended the limits of her shield until it also enclosed the woman standing on the chair.

The security agents raised their wands. Oliver and Lee stepped out of the crowd with their hands raised. Aaron held his drawn wand against his palm, clenching ebony in coiled fingers.

"We're not leaving! We're not leaving! We're not leaving!"

The other protestors started to join the chant.

"WE'RE NOT LEAVING! WE'RE NOT LEAVING! WE'RE NOT LEAVING!"

Shields originated from various portions of the crowds.

The Ministry employee was frantic. "You have to disperse! You can't stay here! The Ministry is closing! Minister Fudge has set specific hours for-"

Eni - with energy dancing from her raised fingertips - said, "Go tell Minister Fudge that we've found his limits on when and where we are allowed to gather to be . . . too restrictive."

"WE'RE NOT LEAVING! WE'RE NOT LEAVING! WE'RE NOT LEAVING!"

"Please, if you don't leave, the security agents will have to-"

"WE'RE NOT LEAVING! WE'RE NOT LEAVING! WE'RE NOT LEAVING!"

Eni smiled at the woman from the Information Desk. "Don't make me repeat myself."

* * *

From her vantage point at the north end of the arrivals lobby – sitting in the guest gallery located adjacent to the astronomical clock – Lara had an unobstructed view of the protest and the entrance to the West Hallway. She alternated between pretending to read a brochure about the history of The Ministry and looking through a copy of yesterday's _Daily Prophet._ Someone had left it on the table near her chair.

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It was quarter to six. Lara had arrived at The Ministry of Magic six hours earlier, stepping out of a slate tile lined fireplace with a face that wasn't her own. She'd always been shit at transfiguration, but Aleus owed her a favor. He'd studied the flickering image of the woman on the guest pass Lara showed him and raised his hands, casting a shroud over her face; manipulating its contours with layers of ignited goblin magic; giving her the stranger's eyes, nose, dark hair, and prominent cheek bones. Aleus couldn't attend the protests himself – not with students crowding his inn to study for final exams, and having to prepare all of his rooms for graduation weekend – so he gave her something else. The hilt of it was pressed against her left thigh, hidden beneath a simple robe. The half-goblin had told her the Ministry's security agents never looked for concealed weapons, and he had been right. All the man at the checkpoint had wanted to see was her wand and a valid guest pass.

The guest pass she'd handed to the agent had belonged to a woman who'd passed through Hogsmeade the night before. Lara had bought it off of her for a handful of Sickles after they had shared a pitcher of ale at the Three Broomsticks. When daylight had transformed the vague shadows in the corner of her bedroom back into a pile of laundry and her chest of drawers, she slid out from beneath Adam's heavy arm, pulled on clothes, and left him asleep in their undersized bed.

She hadn't left a note. She didn't want another fight.

Adam had already caught her in their kitchen late last night. "You're taking too many damn chances, Lara; sleeping here again and wandering through Hogsmeade. The wrong person is going to see you."

"I can't stay in the damn tunnels and stable anymore, Adam. I'm not going to let Juliet control my life. If she really had something on me – anything of substance – she would have broken down our door with a team of Aurors and a warrant, but she hasn't. She has a vendetta against me is all this is, because I had the nerve to confront her and question her whole damn career and make her out to be a muggle-born traitor."

"It doesn't matter if that's all this is. You aren't innocent, Lara. If Juliet finds you, and gets inside your head, she'll drag you before the entire Wizengamot."

"Let her try. She's wanted to get her fingers on my forehead since she was sixteen. It's never happening."

"She won't stop trying, Lara. She was here again two days ago."

"So, what of it?"

"Lara, you can't keep-"

"You mean, you can't keep doing this. You don't want me here anymore."

"Don't make this about our marriage again."

"Why not? It makes for a better cover story, doesn't it? Keep telling Juliet we're separated and that's why I'm not here, at least it won't be a complete damn lie."

"I want you back, Lara. I want to fix things. But that will never happen if Juliet finds you. Either you keep hiding, or you finally listen to me and leave this damn world behind; show me your muggle world and let's get as far away from here as we can. We could go somewhere else – a country where you'd be more accepted."

"Because I'm the problem. Because it's always been my dirty blood."

"You know that's not what I meant."

"I'm not running away, Adam."

"I don't know how much longer you'll have a choice, Lara."

She folded her arms and leaned against the sink. He'd kept the house so clean while she was away. The dishes were stacked and organized in the cabinet. She'd never kept her own kitchen in order.

Adam reached for the lantern and lowered the flame. "Look, if you're going to stay, stop sleeping on the couch. Come to bed, alright?"

She wanted to leave him standing there alone. Instead, she had let him pull her into his arms and take her into their bedroom.

Maybe she should have left a note, but it was too late now.

Lara looked from the protestors –

"WE'RE HERE NOW, CAN'T SHUT US UP, WE'RE FUTURE MINISTRY COVER UPS!"

"KEEP IGNOGING US AND SEE – HOW FAST THIS WORLD CEASES TO BE!"

\- back to the West Hallway. No one had left the Minister's Wing in hours. Fudge had arrived just after one o'clock, appearing at the far end of the arrivals lobby with his usual entourage of bureaucrats; Barty Crouch Senior, Pius Thicknesse, and Delores Umbridge. None of them had seemed to notice that there were other people in the lobby. They'd walked past the barriers left in-place for the protests without a glance, enjoying the freedom they had to walk through The Ministry again without getting harassed by muggle-borns holding obscene signs. The sight of them had made Lara sick.

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_Ten minutes_ , Lara thought. It was time to find Rosaline. She stood and leaned over the gallery railing, scanning the crowds. Rosaline still stood where she had for the last hour - at the edge of the crowd by the fireplaces, keeping herself between the other protestors and Ministry employees heading home for the evening, making sure none of them were there to follow through on the threats.

Lara took the spiral staircase down to the main thoroughfare and walked into the crowds.

"WE'RE HERE NOW, CAN'T SHUT US UP, WE'RE FUTURE MINISTRY COVER UPS!"

"KEEP IGNOGING US AND SEE – HOW FAST THIS WORLD CEASES TO BE!"

Rosaline didn't recognize her.

Lara chanted next to the other witch for a moment, watching her friend through the eyes of a stranger. She couldn't help but think of Sam. Sam was the one who had introduced them. Sam had been sorted into Ravenclaw with Rosaline after Lara had been placed in Gryffindor. Lara had spent the first night in the castle crying in her bed, alone in a room full of girls she didn't know, afraid she'd lost her best friend and blindsided by the Hogwarts' house system. There had to be a mistake. She _wasn't_ different from Sam. She couldn't be. Why had they been separated? It wasn't fair.

The next morning, Sam had found her at breakfast - sitting alone with bloodshot eyes - and walked her over to the Ravenclaw table to introduce her to Rosaline. Lara never ate another meal with her own house.

How had Sam been dead for six years?

"I've been watching the crowds from the gallery," Lara said, leaning into Rosaline's ear. "If they plan to attack us, they'll be in for a fight. All of our people look ready to take down anyone who tries to follow through on the threats."

Rosaline was confused, but only for a second. "Polyjuice?"

"Aleus."

"He does good work." Rosaline hugged Lara. She hadn't seen her since the night they had all gathered in the tunnel. "Are you alright?"

Lara nodded and pulled away.

"You shouldn't have come. It's not safe for you."

"It isn't safe for any of us. I had to make sure nothing happened, and that I was here to fight in case something did."

"There's plenty of us here for that. You need to stay hidden, Lara."

_tick clang clink_

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"I don't have to remind you that representation is CRITICAL! We aren't asking for the whole damn Wizengamot! We only want to PARTICIPATE in our own bloody government and have a say in what is and what isn't made law! We cannot keep quiet as long as they are trying to silence us!"

"Who's the woman on the chair?"

"Natalie Murphy. Half-Irish, all fight. She's been attending the protests since our rendezvous beneath Hogsmeade."

"WE'RE HERE NOW, CAN'T SHUT US UP, WE'RE FUTURE MINISTRY COVER UPS!"

"KEEP IGNOGING US AND SEE – HOW FAST THIS WORLD CEASES TO BE!"

"Fudge is here," Lara said.

"How do you know?"

"I've been here for hours, sitting in the gallery with all the pure-blood visitors, listening to them talk about us like we're dirt beneath their fingernails. Fudge came walking through with his entourage a few hours ago. None of them will leave until all of us undesirables have gone home."

"They could have apparited from their offices. The Ministry can re-set the wards and enchantments to allow for that, and Fudge is the damn Minister."

"They could have, but I don't think they did," Lara said. "I've watched too many Ministry employees walk through here today to dissipate behind the set boundaries, and Fudge and the rest of those bastards like to be seen. They like remembering they own this building and everyone inside of it."

_CLANG CLANG CLANG_

"You should leave, Lara, and not with me. I can't promise Juliet isn't watching the lobby. I know she's watching my building."

_CLANG CLANG CLANG_

The lanterns suspended from the ceiling above their heads burned higher. A woman from the Information Desk walked towards the crowds.

"Thank you for taking another day to voice your thoughts and concerns. I must now ask all of you to leave for the night. You may return on Monday afternoon at four o'clock-"

Someone interrupted the woman from the Information Desk - a young Japanese woman who had walked into the main thoroughfare.

_Eni._

Rosaline saw her, too. "What the hell is she doing?"

Eni's amplified voice echoed across the arrivals lobby. "We're not leaving."

"What we should have done weeks ago," Lara said. "Taking a stand."

The crowd around them started to chant.

"WE'RE NOT LEAVING! WE'RE NOT LEAVING! WE'RE NOT LEAVING!"

An older wizard to Lara's right said, "Nothing will come of this, except every one of us getting arrested."

"If you're so sure," Lara said, raising her wand above her head, "then get out of here before you become a liability."

* * *

The boundary of Eni's spherical shield split the expanse of space between her and the security agents; a constant flux of protection fed by the energy that danced off her fingertips.

The agent standing closest to her - with his wand raised and aimed at her head - took another step forward. Eni expanded the shield in his direction until it flickered five feet from his face.

The man didn't have to amplify his voice for her to hear him. "Lower the shield and leave the lobby peacefully, or we will have to remove you by force."

Eni kept her hands raised.

"If you refuse to comply-"

"I refuse," Eni said. 

"WE'RE NOT LEAVING! WE'RE NOT LEAVING! WE'RE NOT LEAVING!"

Eni smiled. "And I'm not the only one."

Four blasts of white, hot energy tore through the air. The force of the impacts shook Eni's shield -

\- but it held, and the cast spells disintegrated on contact.

Around her, the protestors' chants turned to shouts and screamed spells - _"PROTEGO!" - "EXPELLIARMUS!' - "IMPEDIMENTA!" -_ as the rest of the security agents opened fire on the crowds.

The agents assaulting Eni tore their wands across their bodies and sent silver arcs laced with fire in her direction. The flames engulfed Eni's shield and singed its edges, feeding on the thin layer of air displaced by its presence. Eni pulled her hands - and the layers of her shield - apart, creating a sudden vacuum and leaving the fire without a fuel source. As the flames dissolved, she brought her hands together in a forceful clap - re-sealing the shield.

Another round of blasts came at her - ignited explosions of glowing, red energy.

The woman on the chair - still protected by the boundary of Eni's shield - resumed her shouting, "WE'RE NOT LEAVING! WE'RE NOT LEAVING! WE'RE NOT LEAVING!", as the shield shook.

Ministry employees - and visitors who weren't interested in getting caught in a battle - ran for the fireplaces, dodging cast spells and clutching handfuls of floo powder that fell through their shaking fingers as they sprinted across the lobby.

* * *

Lara leaned around the edge of Rosaline's shield - a vertical barrier extending fifteen feet along the front line of the crowds - and cast an impediment jinx. Her spell found its target, immobilizing a security agent who had fired a barrage of dangerous, uncontrolled blasts at the protestors. As his body halted in its tracks, Lara realized how young _shit he could have been a Hogwarts student last year_ and afraid he was. She cast a binding spell as her first hex wore off, lashing the young man's arms - and wand - against the sides of his body and tying his legs together. Incapacitated, he fell backwards onto the marble tile.

Rosaline's shield wavered and shook, assaulted by another onslaught of spells. She yelled to Lara, "I'm almost out of energy! Get ready to take over!"

Lara - and two wizards standing near her - raised their wands, casting concurrent shields as Rosaline's fell, maintaining the protective barrier between their section of the crowd and the encroaching security agents.

Spells ricocheted off the shields and shot back at two of the security agents. The agents - more experienced than Lara's young victim - pulled their battle cloaks around their bodies. The force of the rebounding blasts pushed the agents back onto their knees, but the cloaks ensured they were otherwise unharmed.

Lara kept her wand in the air and looked back toward the West Hallway, waiting for Fudge to realize his beloved Ministry was under siege.

* * *

Aaron tore his wand through the air around him, casting rapid bursts of flash shields to deflect the steady influx of assaults coming his way. The incoming spells exploded – loud and jarring – on impact with his barriers, sending sparks and fragments of disintegrated energy into the main thoroughfare between him and a group of security agents.

He glanced at Eni's shield again to make sure it was intact.

It was holding. Eni had forced its boundaries against the floor hard enough to fracture the marble, leaving a circle of shattered tiles around her and the woman standing on the chair.

The lines of protestors on Aaron's left and right projected overlapping shields and sent what were mostly _thank fuck_ defensive spells back at the security agents. The majority of the witches and wizards standing behind him had never engaged an opponent outside of sparing in school classes, and a lot of the charms they cast went wild. The resulting chaos left the security agents confused and unorganized. Many of the agents hadn't used their own wands for anything more than casting _Reparo_ and _Accio_ since they'd graduated. They hadn't been trained in advanced dueling techniques or battle tactics; they weren't Aurors.

A sudden _Stupefy_ blast shot over Aaron's head. He didn't have time to turn around and see who had cast it. 

The spell missed its intended target and hit a column, sending exploding pieces of marble tearing through the air.

Oliver grabbed the young caster - a Fifth Year student from Hogwarts. "What are you doing? Do you want the man you just tried to stun to have memories of you sending an attack at his head when you're arrested?"

"I was just-"

"Either keep your spells defensive or climb into one of the fireplaces. Got it?"

The boy nodded. Oliver released his arm and went back to stand with Aaron and Lee on the front line.

Eni's shield flickered. She dropped to her knees and strained against the oncoming attacks.

Lee lowered her hands and took a step towards Eni.

"Not yet," Aaron yelled over the noise around them. He knew what Eni was capable of. "She can hold out a bit longer."

"When she can't and she runs out of energy-"

"If that happens, I'll grab her."

He extended his arm in fast movements, casting another round of flash shields. The next onslaught of attack spells exploded in front of his face.

_Come on, Eni. You've got them._

* * *

_Chikusho_

Shockwaves originating from exploding and disintegrating spells shook the lobby.

A security agent who had worked for The Ministry since 1982 - and had never liked muggle-borns - aimed his wand at the ceiling above the crowds and fired the blasting curse. The ceiling exploded. Heavy pieces of concrete, plaster, and broken tile rained down on the protestors. Vigilant witches and wizards moved fast, casting a series of levitation charms, but not before several people were hit by the falling debris.

Farther down the line - near the fireplaces - a security agent aimed her wand at the floor in front of a protestor who was casting a shield, enchanting the tile with a tripping jinx that knocked the wizard off his feet. Before someone else could cast another shield, three agents fired torrents of fire into the opening in the crowd. A witch and wizard who weren't fast enough to get out of the way screamed as their faces and arms burned.

An arc of electricity laced with white, hot energy hit Eni's shield. The barrier singed and started to collapse inward. Eni pushed against the attack with shaking hands - holding her bulwark in-place as sweat ran into her eyes. A second arc came from the opposite direction. It took two agents - straining and holding onto each other - to cast each of the concentrated penetration charms that drilled into Eni's shield.

Eni summoned magical energy until her fingers twisted and the tile beneath her feet buckled. She wasn't going to make this easy for them. If the security agents wanted to take out her shield - and get to her and the woman who had spent an hour standing on a chair and speaking about injustice - they'd have to make up for her constant influx of channeled power.

Eni couldn't see the woman standing behind her, but she could feel the unrestrained energy that emanated from the woman's raised wand, colliding with her shield and bolstering it.

Sweat ran down Eni's raised arms. Her muscles burned from exertion.

_Shit_

_I'm going to lose it. And trap us between those damn arcs._

The boundaries of her shield - laced with ribbons of gold and turquoise from her influx of energy - wavered against the onslaught of the penetration charms.

_No, come ON. Just a bit longer._

Eni reached out - and felt for the ebb and flow of magical energy she desperately needed - straining to summon more. The highest concentration came from the singed edges of her shield - where cracking electricity tried to force the layers of her barrier apart.

Eni split her focus, and pulled on the arcs.

Siphoned energy from the penetration charms spread across her shield. Eni turned her wrists - and made it dance.

Eni got to her feet. She yelled to the woman behind her, "Hold on!"

The woman screamed over the roar of deadening noise surround them. "To what?!"

"Me," Eni said.

The woman wrapped an arm around Eni's waist.

Eni pulled on the arcs, drawing white, hot energy and electricity into the layers of her shield. The collected power shot through the barrier until a surrounding lightning storm was all Eni and the woman could see.

Eni tore her hands apart and sent the concussive tsunami that was now her shield cascading at the security agents.

They didn't have time to run. The blast knocked all four agents off their feet and sent them flying through the air across the main thoroughfare.

Eni's rapid expansion and release of energy - and the resulting concussive blast - _BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM_ detonated across the lobby, taking out three columns and most of the north wall. 

The ancient astronomical clock exploded.

Eni - in more ways than one - had shaken The Ministry to its core. 


	122. Fire Burn and Cauldron Bubble, Part 2

**June 1991**

Glass curtain walls – whose panes could be armored or turned opaque at will – enclosed two sides of The Minister for Magic's office, providing Cornelius Fudge with a direct view of the rest of his administration's department. The other walls had been built into a layer of solid rock and lined with bookcases and a massive stone fireplace. Fudge hadn't wasted any time making the room his own. As soon as Bagnold vacated the space, he had her furniture removed and discarded, along with art pieces he knew she would have preferred had been kept on the walls. He'd replaced most of them with framed photographs of himself, and _Daily Prophet_ articles featuring such headlines as _FUDGE CREDITED WITH SUCCESSFUL MUGGLE DETERMENT AFTER MAGICAL EXPLOSION KILLS TWELVE_ , _WHAT DRAGON? FUDGE AND THE RE-SHAPING OF MUGGLE MEMORIES,_ and the obvious _FUDGE WINS ELECTION._

Dolores Umbridge reached for the dish on the mantel and took a handful of floo powder.

Fudge didn't look up from the letter he was writing. "You'll have to take that to the lobby."

Umbridge let the floo powder slide through her fingers - back into the dish - and made a sound Fudge wished she hadn't. A kind of _humph_ that grated on his nerves. And would it kill her to wear a more . . . professional color?

"Cornelius," she said, walking back toward his desk, "I've _told_ you, you _must_ re-connect your fireplace to the floo network so that-"

"After what happened in February? Suppose the killers decide they've had enough of mirror portals and find a way to bypass the safeguards the Aurors have set on the fireplaces? I'm not having anyone arrive in my office without warning. You can do what Thicknesse did and apparate home. I haven't placed any restrictions on my administration staff."

"I'm not _going_ home, Cornelius. I'm _going_ to-"

"I don't know what to tell you, Dolores, either apparate, or walk yourself to the lobby. It's nearly six-thirty. The muggle-borns will have finished their ranting by now."

Fudge finished his letter, folded the parchment, and dipped his stamp in a dish of hot wax.

Umbridge gave another _humph_ and looked at the name Fudge wrote on the envelope. "You really must stop asking Dumbledore for help with your day to day duties, Cornelius. He should never be involved with-"

"We're finished here, Dolores. I no longer require your . . . assistance. Now, please, escort yourself to the lobby or do me the favor of-"

The wax dish . . . rattled. So did his ink pot, lamp, and quill stand.

_What in the name of Merlin's wand?_

The framed, flickering images of him shook against the walls. His likenesses looked around, bewildered. 

"Dolores, are you-"

The dish of floo powder fell off the mantel.

"Do you think this is _me_? Do you think I don't have _control_? That I would do something like this to prove a _point_?"

The framed copy of the newspaper asking _WHAT DRAGON?_ fell and shattered. Fudge put his hand on his desk, stood, and reached for the closest bookcase. Vibrations traveled through his palms - steadily increasing in intensity.

This wasn't localized magical energy. The entire office shook.

Fudge looked past the curtain wall. The lanterns hanging from the ceilings swayed and rattled; glass vibrated against iron casings. Half of them flickered and went out.

Fudge took his hands off the shaking desk and bookcase.

_What the muggle-loving shit-_

The glass panes surrounding his office exploded. Everything went dark.

Shards of glass tore through the air, shredding the skin on Fudge's arms, neck, and forehead, and embedding themselves in his flesh. Dolores caught the shrapnel in her chest and shoulders.

Fudge covered his face with his arms - too late. Blood covered his suit and ran into his eyes. Umbridge screamed.

It wasn’t over. The next phase of the explosion - a wave of negative pressure - sent the books hurtling to the floor. The curtain walls' framing buckled and separated from the ceiling. The sound was deafening. 

Fudge grabbed his wand off his desk. Umbridge - bleeding and screaming - raised hers in the dark and managed to ignite its end.

Pieces of glass stuck out of their bleeding bodies. They waited next to each other in the dark.

_Is it over?_

Fudge ignited the end of his wand and walked to his office door, stepping _CRUNCH CRUNCH_ on broken glass. He pushed the door open.

Furniture - desks, chairs, bookcases, tables, and lamps - had been overturned and torn apart. Fractured plaster hung from the ceilings and walls.

Fudge raised his wand and pulled on the noise-blocking charms that had laced the walls since 1985, unweaving the enchantments cast by his predecessor.

Screams came from the far hallway; from the arrivals lobby.

_It's happened. The muggle-borns have been attacked - just like the damn letters said they would be._

A figure ran toward them through the dark, yelling words neither Fudge nor Umbridge could understand over the crescendo of noise - and tripping over broken furniture.

Fudge held his glowing wand up to the security agent's face. Fragmented marble stuck to the man’s sweat-covered forehead and arms. 

"What happened?"

"The muggle-borns wouldn't leave, Sir Minister. They wouldn't leave when the curfew started, so we had to-"

"Merlin's mother. Did you attack them?"

Fudge pulled a shard of glass out of his shoulder. Umbridge pointed her wand at her bleeding chest and muttered an extraction spell. Blood-covered fragments of what had been curtain wall panes removed themselves from her flesh and sweater.

"We didn't attack them - we only tried to get them to leave. They refused."

”So, you decided to destroy the whole damn Ministry to force them out?”

"We didn't do this, Sir. This was something else."

"What caused this?"

"It's hard to say for certain, but it seems like a shield being cast by one of the protestors exploded."

"Shields can't explode."

"I know, Sir, but I'm afraid that's exactly what seems to have happened and-"

_Stupid, ignorant man._

Fudge wiped blood off his face and shoved past the security agent. He stepped on broken pieces of what had been his department. The thick, purple carpet was covered with debris. He was relieved his staff and the rest of his associates had left for the weekend hours ago.

Light came from the hallway that led to the North Wing. Fudge turned left and walked towards it.

"No, Sir, you shouldn't go that way," the agent yelled after him. "The North Wing has been completely-"

Fudge kept walking towards the light. The noise from the arrivals lobby was constant; shouts, screamed spells, and exploding energy that shook the air.

He turned the corner with the security agent and Umbridge on his heels -

\- what had been the North Wing was now collapsed masonry, plaster, and the deformed remains of the astronomical clock. Its massive gears had turned into projectiles and been imbedded in the walls.

_Merlin's holy-_

Fudge stopped as one of the gears fell from the ceiling in front of him, crushing the remains of an overturned desk. He looked past the smoke and debris - through the opening that had been the massive timepiece - to the arrivals lobby.

He watched the chaos.

_How DARE they. After all I've done for them. In MY lobby._

"Do your agents have their battle cloaks and masks?"

"They are all fully equipped with-"

"Good," Fudge said. "Don the masks and prepare to make arrests."

"Sir, if you plan on releasing the-"

"I do. Go _now._ "

The security agent ran back down the hallway.

Umbridge faced Fudge. "You should seal off the fireplaces and prevent dissipation inside the lobby so we can contain all of the protestors and-"

"No," Fudge said, clutching his wand and preparing to recite the incantation he'd hoped he would never have to use, "I'm not killing anyone tonight. I just have to make a few . . . examples. Leave the fireplaces accessible."

Fudge watched the defiant witches and wizards desecrate his lobby. "They'll need somewhere to run."

* * *

Eni was underwater; submerged in a distorted world of smoke, debris, and muffled screams. Blood ran down the back of her head. She reached for her damaged ears with shaking hands, trying to remember where she was.

A woman stood over her, yelling words Eni couldn't understand. Blood ran down the sides of the woman's face.

_The woman with the chair. I . . . told her to grab onto me . . . before I . . ._

The woman supported Eni's shoulders and helped her sit up, yelling and pointing towards the line of protestors.

" . . . have . . . move . . . "

Lee ran through the smoke and got on her knees in front of Eni. 

"E . . . can . . . move?"

"I can move," Eni managed, still disoriented.

Lee pulled Eni to her feet and helped her across the main thoroughfare. The woman – whose name Eni still didn't know – ripped her wand through the air above their heads as they ran, releasing flash shields to block the incoming barrage of spells.

Lee pulled Eni behind Oliver, Aaron, and the rest of the front line. She wrapped her arms around Eni and clutched her against her body.

"En . . . thought . . . you . . . "

"Lee," Eni - against Lee's neck - said, "I can't hear you."

Lee raised her hands and covered Eni's ears. Heat spread from Lee's glowing fingers into Eni's temples and jaw, expanding until it reached Eni's ruptured ear drums.

Words and noises – explosions and screamed spells – became clear again, but Eni didn't want to talk. She leaned forward and kissed Lee. Lee pulled Eni against her body.

"You were bloody brilliant," Lee said. "Bloody fucking brilliant."

She kissed Eni's forehead. Eni smiled and ran her lips over Lee's.

"That's great and all," Oliver yelled back at them, "we see that you're both very much in love, but, Eni, you only managed to incapacitate four of these bastards with your impressive display of magic, so maybe you and my dear cousin can help Aaron and me out a little here?"

"It's not like we can all make buildings explode," Aaron yelled, sending up another flash shield to block an incoming blast of red light.

Lee kept her eyes on Eni - the same green eyes Eni hadn't been able to get out of her mind since she was fifteen. "Are you-"

"I'm alright," Eni said. She wasn't sure it was the truth - she didn't feel like she could summon any more magical energy. She was weak and depleted. "Help them."

Lee squeezed Eni's shoulder and pushed her way between Oliver and Aaron with her hands raised, forming the first spirals of duel, circular shields. The smoke and debris from Eni's explosion made it hard to see where the influx of attack spells was coming from. The security agents used the low visibility to their advantage.

One agent stood alone in the gallery above the arrivals lobby, looking down over the crowds and the remains of the clock. Eni raised her hands, thinking he would open fire on the crowd. Instead, he lowered his wand and pulled a mask over his head, tightening the straps that hung at his chin and cinching them against his face.

At the same time, Eni realized the smoke wasn't settling - it was spreading.

And more came up between the marble tiles under her feet.

_Oh my God_

_His mask-_

_This isn't smoke. It's gas._

* * *

Heavy clouds of debris from the explosion drifted across the lobby and concentrated at the far end of the line of protestors, following the currents of air escaping through the chimney flues. Lara lost sight of the security agents - and the witches and wizards standing beside her. Rosaline grabbed Lara's free hand to keep from losing her in their obscured surroundings.

A wizard behind them yelled, "Stay calm! Don't let them break our line!"

A different voice, "We've got them scared!"

"The smoke will clear and we'll still be here!"

The chants started again; the message evolved.

"WE'RE STILL HERE, CAN'T SHUT UP UP! WE'RE STILL HERE, CAN'T SHUT US UP!"

Security agents emerged from the smoke and debris - appearing ten feet from the edge of the crowds. They fired blasts of white energy at a witch and wizard standing fifteen feet to Lara's right. The pair had - unknowingly - stepped past the protective limits of the cast shields when the debris clouds overtook them.

Lara never saw them. But she heard their screams.

Rosaline let go of Lara's hand and leaned around the edge of Lara's shield. She shot her arm forward, and yelled, " _Expelliarmus!_ "

The closest agent's wand tore out of her hand. 

"WE'RE STILL HERE, CAN'T SHUT UP UP! WE'RE STILL HERE, CAN'T SHUT US UP!"

Lara - and the people standing with her - couldn't see the gas rising from the floor and merging with the debris.

The security agents lowered their wands and stepped back into the smoke. They pulled masks over their faces and adjusted the straps, making sure the seals were tight.

_Like people sheltering in the Underground during the last World War. What are they-_

Lara tried to scream, "ROS-", and choked.

_They can't do this to us._

Lara choked. Her eyesburned.

A wizard standing behind Rosaline realized what was happening and cast a bubble-head charm on himself. It did nothing to stop the weaponized fumes.

The version of tear gas filling the lobby and choking the protestors was stolen from the muggles in 1915. The Office of the Minister had tasked a team of potions masters with modifying the chemical composition of the gas. The result was a poison that could penetrate magical barriers.

Fudge knew all of this when he raised his hands and recited the incantation to make it rise from the floor.

Lara _no no_ couldn't breathe. She lost her shield, and wasn't the only one.

The line broke. Protestors screamed from the effects of the tear gas and ran for the fireplaces, tripping over each other in the chaos of the obscured lobby. Security agents hit fleeing witches and wizards with binding spells, lashing their arms and legs against their bodies. The bound protesters screamed as they collapsed on the floor, coming into direct contact with the rising gas. They screamed and writhed as security agents stood over them and forced their faces against the tiles, burning their foreheads, mouths, eyes, and necks.

Lara pulled her shirt over her nose and mouth. She couldn't see through her burning, tear-filled eyes.

_Ros?_

_ROS_

She had lost her. Lara gasped and staggered through the lobby, trying to stay on her feet - disoriented and suffocating. 

_They can't do this to us. They can't do this to us._

_show them_

_Show them they can't do this._

Lara tripped over another protestor. The woman shoved Lara away from her and ran towards the fireplaces - choking and crying. The skin on her hands was blistered.

_show them_

_MAKE THEM_

Lara turned her back on the fireplaces and ran towards the West Hallway; into the plumes of rising tear gas.

* * *

When the bottle of Scotch whiskey – now more than half empty – rattled against the dust-covered oak desk he'd set it on top of, Alastor Moody cursed himself for drinking too much too fast. He stood, grabbed the bottle, shoved the cork in its neck –

\- and staggered. It wasn't the damn alcohol. The floor was moving.

_Merlin's left-_

Moody was thrown off his feet; propelled backwards by a jarring wave of released energy. He hit a bookcase - hard - and gasped as the air was forced out of his lungs. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement came apart around him. Plaster fractured, buckled, and fell from the ceiling and walls. Furniture turned into projectiles. Moody raised his wand and cast a shield, blocking the incoming onslaught of debris.

Everything went dark.

Moody waited on the floor as more pieces of the room collapsed. The only light came from a still-ignited surgical lamp in the infirmary and the flickering extents of his shield.

When nothing moved, he expanded the shield until the debris that had collected on top slid off and crashed into the overturned desks and chairs.

_Either the protestors have finally had enough of The Ministry's, the author of those letters made good on their threats, or the damn muggles figured out we've been living beneath Westminster and decided to bomb the fuck out of us._

Whatever the reason, he had to get upstairs.

Moody killed the shield and ignited the end of his wand. He climbed over _this was a lot easier when I had two real legs_ shattered furniture. The partially-collapsed remains of the ceiling plaster hung down around him at unnatural angles. Lamps that had been mounted on the walls now laid in pieces on the floor.

Moody wasn't prepared for the sudden loss of the noise-blocking charms. The distant screams and exploding spells made him jump.

_That's not good. Not at all._

He climbed faster, trying not to fall between the unstable piles of debris beneath him.

His eyes started to burn before he reached the stairwell. 

_What is this shit?_

He kept going - until he reached the lobby and his lungs wouldn't let him. Moody choked on the dense fog of poison gas.

No one had ever told him - or Bones - about the tear gas, or the enchantment that could be used to release it. The Office of the Minister had considered that need-to-know information.

Moody fell on his knees and pulled himself back into the stairwell. Through the smoke and gas, he watched masked security agents grab protestors by their arms and force them to the floor; shove their heads against the walls; and _no_ stand on their backs.

_No no no where is_

He couldn't see Aaron, not through the smoke and tear gas. 

_Aaron's smart. He'll have jumped himself out of here._

_Or he's in the middle of it._

He had to find him and stop the untrained security agents before they killed someone.

_GET THE OFF THE FLOOR, YOU OLD FUCK. STOP WATCHING AND STOP THIS._

Moody - trying to pull clean air into his lungs - stumbled down the stairwell. He lunged over the debris in the hallways, choking and heading for the armory.

He bypassed the wards on the entrance, grabbed the masks _now I know why we have these old muggle war relics_ off a high shelf, and pulled one over his face.

He stopped long enough to write _JULIET LOBBY NOW_ and _AARON GET TF OUT OF THERE_ on his transfer parchment. He'd have to intercept Juliet upstairs, or she wouldn't make it past the fireplaces.

Moody ran back to the stairwell with his eyes and lungs on fire.

* * *

Eni fell backward – shoved off her feet by screaming witches and wizards trying to run from the tear gas. She screamed as her hands hit the tiles. The skin covering her palms blistered; burned from direct contact with the fumes seeping up through the floor.

Eni choked and inhaled more poison. She looked up, confused and disoriented.

_No no no no no_

_LEE?! AARON?!_

They were gone.

She'd been thrown back into the panicked crowds and the clouds of gas. Eni tried to get to her feet, but she was trampled and pushed deeper into the fray.

Eni gasped and struggled on the floor. She recognized the feeling.

She was suffocating.

_CRACK_

Aaron picked her up –

\- and pulled her into a room with overturned cabinets. He set her down on the floor and cradled her against his body.

"Breathe, Eni. Come on, breathe."

Lee and Oliver stood over them. A surgical lamp flickered in the far corner of the room.

Eni gasped and coughed. Lee raised her hand. "Keep your eyes open. I'm going to flush them out."

Eni tried. She blinked and winced against the pain.

Lee summoned her magic – concentrated streams of water that washed Eni's scalded eyes clean.

Aaron coughed, still trying to overcome the effects of the tear gas he'd inhaled. "It's my fault, Eni. I lost you in the crowd and I-" 

He saw her blistered hands and raised his wand, summoning the healing potion Juliet had used after his encounter with the Imperius Curse. He hoped it wasn't one of the ones shattered on the floor.

It wasn't. But it was in a locked cabinet. He hit the lock with _Alohomora_ and the vial floated into his waiting hand.

Aaron – slow and careful not to hurt her more - covered Eni's hands with the potion.

"It's not your fault, Aaron," Eni managed. The potion stung, and she winced, but her skin started to heal.

"Yes, it is. If something happened to you I . . . I'm a fucking-"

"No, you're not." Eni smiled, wrapped her healed fingers around Aaron's shaking hand, and kissed his forehead. "I'm all right."

She held onto him until they both calmed down. 


	123. Fire Burn and Cauldron Bubble, Part 3

**June 1991**

Rosaline saw Lara through rising plumes of gas, smoke, and the haze of settling debris. Lara didn't see Rosaline. She staggered farther into the lobby - away from the fireplaces - choking and holding her shirt over her face.

_LARA_

_No_

_you're going the wrong way_

Rosaline went after her.

A security agent stepped out of the fumes, grabbed Rosaline, and shoved her on the floor. She hit the tile hard and screamed as her left wrist shattered. The cry was torn from her scoured throat.

Rosaline thrashed against the man who pinned her to the floor, but the agent was twice her size - and he wasn't struggling to breathe.

_Stop screaming. You have to stop screaming. The tear gas will -_

The agent pressed his knee between Rosaline's shoulder and neck. Rosaline stopped screaming. She couldn't breathe.

She flailed against the floor, fighting for air. Her already limited vision filled with spreading black specks.

_oh God he's killing me_

_Don't let him kill you. GET UP._

She couldn't move. She gasped and choked against the floor. The air she managed to pull into her lungs was laced with tear gas; pure poison.

_no_

_get up_

_Tom_

_I never told you_

What would Tom do if Anna was a witch? If she raised her hands one day and made her plastic bricks and crayons lift into the air? She'd never warned Tom. She'd never told him what she was - and what their daughter could be.

_get_

_up_

She couldn't.

_BANG_

An explosion of red light hit the security agent in the chest. He fell off Rosaline in an unconscious heap.

Juliet grabbed her sister's limp body, pulled her into her lap, and cradled her in her arms.

_NO. COME ON, ROS._

Juliet pointed her wand _RENNERVATE_ at Rosaline.

Rosaline choked. Juliet took off the gas mask Moody had given her and held it against her sister's face. Rosaline gasped and inhaled filtered, purified air. The magically modified tear gas still had nothing on good, old fashioned muggle technology and respirator filters.

Juliet choked on the tear gas. Her eyes burned. She had to get them out of the damn arrivals lobby. 

Juliet tried to orient herself, covering her mouth and nose with her arm and holding the mask against Rosaline's face, looking into the smoke and gas. They were almost to the clock – nowhere near the fireplaces. Rosaline still struggled to breathe, even with the mask. She'd inhaled a lot of tear gas. Juliet had to get them to clean air.

Juliet pulled Rosaline to her feet and staggered with her across the lobby, heading for the West Hallway. If Fudge had released this gas, he'd have ways of preventing it from reaching him.

Juliet raised her wand, hit an unprepared security agent who stood in their path with _Stupefy_ , and kept moving.

Rosaline held onto Juliet - gasping. She couldn't see past the tears and the pain in her scorched eyes.

Juliet pulled Rosaline into the dark, partially-collapsed West Hallway, choking and trying to cover her mouth while she held onto her disoriented sister.

The hallway was covered with debris from the explosion. Juliet ignited the end of her wand and navigated them around it, guiding Rosaline farther into the deserted department. The gas _thank fuck_ began to dissipate.

Juliet pulled open the doors to a dark conference room and guided Rosaline inside. She helped her sister to a chair and aimed her wand _Diffindo_ at the carpet. She used the extracted pieces of flooring to cover the space between the threshold and the double doors in case the tear gas made it down the hallway. Sometimes, muggle solutions worked best.

Juliet knelt across from Rosaline. "You can lower the mask. The air in here feels clean."

Juliet summoned water to flush out her sister's red eyes and soak her chemical-laden skin and clothes. She did the same to herself. The water cooled her burning eyes and ran down her face and neck.

Juliet leaned over the floor with water dripping from her chin and nose, coughing.

Rosaline reached out and took her hand. "You saved me."

Juliet let her. "I wasn't going to leave you on the floor to die beneath that damn security agent, despite what you think of me. Are you alright?"

Rosaline coughed. "Not yet."

”Your wrist looks-“

”It will heal. I can re-set it with some charms.”

"What happened out there, Ros?"

"We decided not to leave when the curfew ended. The security agents tried to force us out, but we stood up to them."

"And blew up the damn Ministry?"

Rosaline shook her head. "I still don't know what caused the explosion. The security guards were casting penetration charms to try to break through our shields. That was when the lobby exploded."

Juliet coughed. "And then Fudge released the gas to force all of you out."

"Fudge released the gas?"

"It wasn't the security agents, that's for damn sure." 

"That career politician bastard."

Juliet stood up and grabbed the mask. "Stay here until I come back for you."

Rosaline coughed and cradled her fractured wrist. "Where are you going?"

Juliet opened one of the doors and stepped out into the hallway. "To make Fudge realize what he's done. And make him stop this."

* * *

Fragmented screams - and enough tear gas to make him choke - cut through the superimposed layer of the arrivals lobby that surrounded Aaron. He bypassed the flickering wards set on the armory and grabbed the last gas mask off a shelf filled with trench clubs, crossbows, and rusted bayonets - remnants of past muggle wars.

His watch band glowed. Aaron ignored the message from Moody. He had no intentions of getting out of there.

He left the armory and walked back into the infirmary.

Eni looked up from the floor, still coughing. "What are you doing?"

Aaron loosened the straps on the mask. "What does it look like?"

"This is no time to play Auror, mate," Oliver said.

"I'm not _playing_ Auror anymore. I'm on the damn payroll."

"Aaron, you're still coughing-"

"I'm coughing because the tear gas is still coming up through the floor in the lobby and I can feel it. People are trapped up there - suffocating and fighting off the security agents - and I can get them out without hurting myself."

Lee sneezed and said, "What do you mean you can feel it?"

Oliver coughed.

"It doesn't matter," Aaron said. _They can still feel it, too. Because of me and my damn superimposed layer._ "Stay here, alright? All of you? It's safe. I'll come back when I've done all I can up there."

He pulled on the mask, tightened the straps, and -

_CRACK_

\- pulled himself into the lobby before they could stop him. 

Aaron banished the layer of the infirmary and walked into the heavy clouds of spell-resistant tear gas. His breathing was loud against the inside of the mask; air inhaled and exhaled in an uneven rhythm. He couldn't see shit. All he could do was follow the screams.

The closest ones came from his left. Aaron walked forwards - stepping on abandoned and trampled protest signs - until he found a wizard who wasn't much older than he was, leaning over the Information Desk, coughing and screaming that he couldn't see.

Aaron touched his shoulder. The wizard jumped and pulled away, choking on poisoned air. "Who's there?"

Aaron pushed back against the locations he pulled off of the other young man and managed to suppress them. He didn't have time to get lost in a flood of layers.

The wizard staggered.

"Easy," Aaron said. His voice was distorted and muffled by the mask. "I'm getting you out of here."

Aaron took his arm, summoned St. Mungo's, and pulled them both through.

St. Mungo's was another nightmare of chaos. Witches and wizards who had escaped The Ministry filled the hospital's reception area - choking and crying from the pain as healers summoned torrents of suspended water to flush their faces. Blood ran from noses and mixed with tears. Healers shouted to each other and cast spells, leaning over protestors who laid on the floors and leaned against the walls. People pulled off their tear gas saturated clothing, trying to stop the burning.

Aaron guided the other young man to an empty stretch of wall and helped him sit down. He raised his wand and summoned a stream of water to clean out his burned eyes. The young man winced.

Aaron waved a healer over and pulled himself back into the arrivals lobby atrium. The other wizard never even saw him.

Screams, choking, and the _BANG_ explosions of cast spells came from multiple directions. Aaron raised his wand and made his way towards – what he thought, but wasn't sure – was the wrecked remains of the astronomical clock.

A security agent ran out of the haze of smoke and gas and shot flashes of orange light at his head. Aaron met the disorientation spells with flash shields, destroying them, and jumped –

\- behind the man. He grabbed him and –

\- pulled him into the one-way room two doors from Bones' office.

Aaron shoved the man away from him and jumped back into the lobby, leaving the security agent trapped behind the wards.

He hit the next agent he saw with a binding charm before the witch could raise her wand or cover herself with her battle cloak.

Aaron wiped sweat off his forehead. He tasted more inside the mask.

Someone grabbed him from behind. The world fragmented and split into layers. Aaron saw an interrogation room, a deserted living room with a stone fireplace, a gravel-covered rooftop, the hallways of a dementor infected fortress, and a familiar kitchen in Edinburgh.

_Moody_

Aaron turned and faced him.

"I told you to get out of here."

"I'm not-"

Blasts of _Stupefy_ red came at them from two different directions. Aaron backed against Moody - they were almost the same height now - raised his wand, and cast a quick series of impediment spells. They collided with the incoming stunning spells and exploded in the stagnant, clouded air. 

Moody tore his wand across his body and met the rest of the onslaught with flash shields - neutralizing the magical energy _BANG BANG_ on impact.

The attacks didn't stop. Moody cast a spherical shield over him and Aaron. "If you won't follow a direct order-"

Spells detonated against the shield.

"Stop ordering me to sit on the fucking sidelines, like you still just see me as a damn fifteen year old."

Moody thrust his wand forward and expanded the shield. Its boundaries hit one of the security agents. The man was thrown back - through the smoke and gas - into a column. He lost his wand.

Aaron pulled at space and scanned the area around them until he saw the other agent. He jumped, grabbed the woman, and left her in the same one-way room on the second floor.

"I'm not ordering you to sit on the sidelines, Aaron," Moody said, as he re-appeared, "I wanted to have one less person I didn't have to account for in this disaster."

"Because you think I can't handle myself and you're-"

"Trying to protect you for a goddamn minute? Yes, I am."

"If you wanted to do that, then you should have left me in the kitchen at Hogwarts."

Panicked screams came from their left - from somewhere between them and the fireplaces. Aaron walked away from Moody, into the heavy plumes of gas that had concentrated along the main thoroughfare.

He hadn't gone far when he tripped over -

_oh my God_

A limp body.

Aaron got on his knees and _Rennervate_ hit the woman _no it's the woman who was standing on the chair_ with the reviving spell. It did nothing.

Aaron pulled off his mask and pressed it against the _her lips are blue_ woman's face. Her eyes were open and still.

_she's dead you know she's dead_

Aaron cradled her against his body and _Rennervate_ tried the same worthless spell, choking while his eyes watered. The woman's head was limp. Her realized her neck had been crushed.

Moody got down next to him. "Aaron, put the mask back on."

Aaron choked and tried the spell again.

Moody touched his shoulder. "Put the mask back on, take her body somewhere safe, and get back here. Help me save the rest of them."

Aaron took the mask away from the woman's face, pulled it back over his head, and held her body against his chest while he pulled her into his old, empty room at St. Mungo's. 

He covered her body with a sheet, and jumped back into the lobby.

* * *

Broken fragments of frames lifted into the air and fused themselves back together. Fudge guided the pieces with his wand, standing on shards of broken glass that littered the carpet inside of his office and muttering _Reparo_ under his breath. Umbridge used the levitation charm to remove the debris covering the chair she had occupied before the explosion. Once it was cleared, she sat down and raised her wand, igniting the lamp on Fudge's desk.

Distorted, desperate screams still came from the arrivals lobby.

Fudge looked at his watch. It would be over soon. The tear gas would only be discharged for another five minutes. By then, his security agents should have order restored, and he could go upstairs and find out what the rest of the damages were. The intricate astronomical clock alone would take months to repair.

_Hopefully, they made some damn arrests so we can get to the bottom of this. Such a waste of time and energy._

Fudge turned his wand on the rooms and corridors beyond his office and re-cast the noise-blocking charms. He couldn't stomach the disruptive sounds any longer.

Umbridge used the mending charm to repair her torn clothes. "The fines should be steep for anyone involved with this clumsy display of rebellion, Cornelius, assuming the Wizengamot doesn't decide on harsher punishments. Those muggle-borns are lucky no one – as far as we know – was injured when they decided to wreak havoc and bring down the walls."

Fudge turned his back on his battered department and looked down at Umbridge. "We don't know what caused this, Dolores. The security agents may not be blameless. We'll have to wait, quite literally, for the smoke to clear before we can question the protestors who were arrested and find out what happened up there."

"Cornelius, you know you can't rely on the testimonies of muggle-borns-"

"Dolores – I swear to Merlin – shut the hell up."

Fudge wiped his forehead.

Shards of glass _CRUNCH_ shattered on the floor behind him.

"How does it feel to have blood running into your eyes for once, Minister?"

Fudge turned around. A woman held a knife to his throat.

Umbridge raised her wand. The intruder lifted hers, cast a binding spell, and lashed the plump woman to the chair.

Fudge lifted his wand.

"Try it, and let's find out how fast you can bleed out on the floor of your own office. Drop your wand."

Fudge lowered his wand.

The woman pressed the edge of the blade against his windpipe until a line of blood ran down his neck. "I said, drop it."

Fudge let his wand fall to the floor. Umbridge screamed. The woman shut her up with a charm that sealed her lips closed.

Fudge couldn't see the knife against his throat, but he could feel it. "What do you want?"

"You always were nothing but a damn bureaucrat. People are dying in your lobby and you're in here fixing your goddamn portraits."

"You're one of the protestors."

The woman coughed. Her eyes were red; burned and wet with tears. "I'm a lot more than that, but yes, to you I'm just one of the goddamn protestors; taking up space in your lobby; wiping mud on my body and throwing _The Daily Prophet_ at your head while you walk past us in willful ignorance."

"If you're here about the tear gas, I apologize. It is a safety precaution. It will stop in another-"

"Stop it now."

"I can't. That's not how the enchantment works. If you wait two minutes, it will-"

More blood ran down his neck.

"People are hurt and dying because of what you did. You've never understood that - none of you have ever understood that. The regulations you place on our lives have consequences. You think we're all here to applauded you; just grateful that we can use magic and that all you pure-bloods had the decency to bring us into this world so we wouldn't be out there making a mess of things. Isn't that right?"

The woman wiped her scorched, bleeding nose. "Have we made enough of a mess now? Do we have your attention yet? Or, are you waiting for fifty more muggle-born bodies to cover your floor?"

Juliet walked up behind the woman with her wand raised.

_Petrificus To-_

Juliet stopped herself.

_No. She's got a knife right on his neck._

The woman saw Juliet's reflection in the restored frame hanging behind Fudge. "Is that you, Juliet? I was wondering when you were going to find me."

_LARA_

Her clothes were saturated with tear gas. Juliet's weren't any better. Umbridge and Fudge's eyes burned from it.

”Come stand over here where I can see you, before I shove this all the way through this arsehole’s neck. And lower your wand.”

”Lara, don’t make me-“

”Do it, Juliet.”

Juliet slipped her wand up her sleeve and held it against her palm. She circled around Lara; walking forwards until she stood between her and the incapacitated Dolores Umbridge.

"That's close enough. I don't want you getting your hands on my head. Just keep doing what you do best and stand between me and them; between muggle-borns and progress, like the good little Ministry lap dog you are."

"Jesus Christ, Lara, what do you think you'll gain by cutting open Fudge's neck?"

"My life back. _Our_ lives back."

"This isn't the way to-"

"Since you know so much, little Juliet, then tell me, what way should I be going about this? Do you know how many other ways I've tried to get their attention? While our people have died?" Lara pressed the blade against Fudge's neck until his blood ran down the hilt and onto her fingers. "I want him to know what it feels like to-"

Juliet flicked her wrist - and her wand - upwards.

_EXPELLIARMUS_

The knife tore out of Lara's hand - along with her wand. Juliet caught the knife.

Lara screamed and tackled her.

Juliet hit the floor. Shards of glass buried themselves deep in her back. 

Lara grabbed the hilt of the knife and twisted it between them, aiming for Juliet's neck. Juliet struggled under Lara - the older woman's legs pinned her against the floor; into the broken glass.

The knife pressed into Juliet's neck - Lara wasn't going to tease her like she had with Fudge - she cut deep. 

Juliet got her legs under Lara and kicked her off of her. Lara - still holding the knife - fell backwards - 

\- onto the deformed remains of the curtain wall. Two protruding metal pieces of the frame went through Lara's back and came out through her chest.

Juliet - bleeding - scampered off the floor. 

_No no no_

"Lara?!"

Lara choked on her own blood. The knife slipped out of her hand.

Juliet held Lara's head in her lap. It was too late to do anything else. 

Lara's blood covered Juliet's chest and legs; more ran from Juliet's maimed throat.

Lara tried to talk, but her punctured and severed organs wouldn’t allow it. She died with Juliet's arms wrapped around her.


	124. Nothing Ever Lasts Forever

**June 1991**

_**The Evening Prophet - 23 June, 1991** _

_The Ministry of Magic remains on lockdown this evening after the disastrous and horrific events of Friday night, when protestors demanding autonomy and equal representation for muggle-borns decided to disregard the curfew that was enacted in May and raised their wands against The Ministry's own security personal. The resulting clash left seventeen protestors, and three Ministry security agents, hospitalized with injuries ranging from chemical burns and open wounds to respiratory distress and fractured bones. At this time, it has also been confirmed that three people were killed as a result of the incident. The victims, whose names have not yet been released to the public, died from severe chemical burns, respiratory failure, and/or fatal injuries consistent with being trampled or struck. A fourth death may have also occurred, as eyewitnesses reported seeing the body of a witch being removed from the Department of the Minister early yesterday morning. However, the details, and the nature, of this death remain unknown. Minister Fudge has released a statement that himself and all of the members of his staff are safe, and managed to survive the uprising with only minor, and easily-treatable, wounds. No other Ministry employees were hurt._

_In addition to the human cost of these tragic events, eyewitnesses have also reported that the west portion of the arrivals lobby atrium - and portions of the West and North Wings - now lie in ruins after an explosion that took place during the insurgence. The cause of the explosion is unknown at this time; however, seven protestors were arrested during the revolt, and will be brought before the Wizengamot to stand trial. This is expected to result in a more reliable timeline of events and more factual evidence of what happened, as their memories will likely be extracted and used as evidence. Minister Fudge has also warned anyone involved in the events of Friday night to be prepared to answer for what has proven to be a most unfortunate and preventable incident. The Minister has also dispatched members of his own -_

The portrait of the fat lady swung open and slammed into the adjacent wall, fracturing the frame. Tonks ignored the screams that came from the painting's occupant and walked across the Gryffindor common room, waving a folded piece of parchment in the air.

"Charlie! It came back!"

Charlie ran down the stairwell, still holding the _Prophet_. "What do you mean it came back?"

Tonks handed him the letter she'd sent Eni the night before. The wax seal was intact.

Charlie tore it open and saw Tonks' disordered handwriting.

_Eni Dearest,_

_WHAT THE BLOODY FUCK HAPPENED AT THE MINISTRY? WHERE ARE YOU? ARE YOU AND THE OTHERS SAFE?_

_CHARLIE AND I HAVE LOOKED EVERYWHERE FOR YOU LOT. WE'VE BEEN TO ST. MUNGO'S TWICE ALREADY AND WE'RE RIGHT WORRIED THAT YOU HAVEN'T TURNED UP ANYWHERE._

_RESPOND BEFORE CHARLIE AND I GO MENTAL. WE'RE NOT FAR OFF IT._

"I don't understand. Owls don't come back, unless they can't-"

Charlie handed her the newspaper. "They've confirmed that three people - maybe four - were killed."

Tonks’ hair turned white as she read the article on the front page. "No. No, I don't think-"

"It's not them," Charlie said, but his voice shook. "They're all too damn-"

An owl flew in through the open window by the fireplace. Charlie recognized the red envelope before he took it off the owl's leg, untying his own knot.

"Is that-"

"It's the howler I sent Aaron yesterday," Charlie said. He disenchanted the letter before it exploded and stuffed it in his back pocket. "This isn't good. Where's your broom?"

"Where else can we even look, Charlie?"

"I don't know. Coming back here to wait for them was a mistake. We should have stayed at the bloody hospital or Lee's mum's flat in case-"

The unoccupied space in front of the fireplace _CRACK_ folded in on itself. Aaron and Eni stepped through.

Charlie crossed the room and grabbed Aaron. He wrapped his arms around Aaron’s shoulders and pulled him against him. "Merlin fucking Christ. Never do that to me again, you disappearing arsehole."

Aaron watched the train platform in Hogsmeade - 

_"Do you want to hold him for a minute?"_

_"The . . . moke?"_

\- layer over the clearing in the forest -

_"Is it time?"_

_"It will be soon."_

\- as the common room replicated -

_"They aren’t going to kick you out.”_

_”This way you know it's real."_

\- and surrounded them. 

Aaron hugged Charlie back.

Tonks threw her arms around Eni. "Where the hell were you? Charlie and I about lost our minds trying to find you bloody muggle-borns."

”We meant to send an owl yesterday - we really did - but we didn’t leave The Ministry until four in the morning and we were exhausted,” Eni said. “We slept through most of Saturday and this afternoon.”

Charlie pulled back from Aaron but kept his hands on his shoulders. ”Why didn’t you come back here?”

”Because The Ministry was hunting down people who were involved with the protest, and arresting them,” Aaron said. “All that stopped them from raiding St. Mungo’s were the hospital’s ‘Do No Harm’ enchantments. Fudge ordered members of his staff to come here and find any students who may have been a part of the resistance, so we stayed away until Moody told me - not ten minutes ago - that Bones put an end to Fudge's literal witch hunt. I don't know what she did, but the Aurors won't let them make any more arrests, or hunt people down."

Tonks still held onto Eni. "Are you alright? Where's Lee?"

"We're fine," Eni said. "Aaron apparated Lee and Oliver at her mum's flat before we came here. Apart from a few stubborn burns, and lingering coughs, we're mostly healed up."

"Burns? Because of the explosion?" 

"No, because of the tear gas Fudge released," Aaron said, sliding his ring back on. "I bet that wasn't in the damn _Prophet_."

"That fucking bastard," Charlie said.

"Wait, so, where the hell have you been since Saturday morning?"

"Eni's bakery."

"You have a bakery?"

"And a flat," Eni said. "In Liverpool."

Charlie took the crumpled howler out of his pocket and handed it to Aaron. "When this came back, and the letter Tonks sent came back, and we couldn't find you, we thought-"

"That's my fault," Aaron said. "Two of the killers are still opening necks, despite _The Prophet's_ refusal to keep the murders on the front page anymore. Lee and Oliver cast goblin wards on the bakery to deter them . . . and I used Auror spellwork to make us unplottable as long as we were at Eni's."

"Does that . . . stop the trace?"

"Nothing stops the trace," Aaron said. "But we weren't sure if The Ministry had hijacked the owl post, or what other resources they have to find people. A lot of the charms cast on the arrivals lobby keep track of what faces have passed through. So, we took precautions until we knew what was going on."

"Well, next time apparate your damn self back here for a bloody second so we know you lot aren't dead," Tonks said.

Another owl soared through the open window, landed on the back of the larger sofa, and tilted it's head towards Eni. She took a rolled scrap of parchment off its leg. The note was short.

_Are you safe?_

Eni had almost forgotten what Maddison's handwriting looked like. They hadn't spoken to each other in over a year.

Eni started to tear the note in half, but stopped herself.

_If I don't forgive her now, I never will. Let it go already. It was a long time ago, we were stupid kids who ruined our friendship over daft shit, and this world is too unstable to pretend I'll have another chance to tell her I'm sorry._

She looked at Charlie. "Is the password still nightingale?"

"It is," Charlie said. "What is that?"

Eni handed him the note. Charlie shared it with Aaron and Tonks.

"I'm going to invite her to come up here," Eni said, "if you're all alright with that."

"I doubt she'll come," Charlie said.

"She might!" Tonks said. "We've been talking a bit in Transfiguration."

Eni looked at Aaron. "Are you comfortable with this?"

Aaron shrugged. "At this point? I don't mind. Tell her to bring some alcohol."

* * *

Charlie grabbed the bottle of fire whiskey out of Aaron's hand while Tonks, Eni, and Maddison laughed at him. "I'm taking this. You have to actually tell the damn truth, is how this works."

Aaron wiped droplets of spilled alcohol off his arm and smiled. "Was that not what I was doing?"

"No, and you damn well know it!"

Charlie tilted the bottle and took a drink, trying to hide his own laughter. It just made him choke on the whiskey.

"Fine then. My memory must be defective," Aaron said. "You definitely never got a chimaera so drunk that it took us three days to get her to walk straight again."

"But it wasn't like I poured liquor down her throat. It was Draught of Peace, for fuck's sake."

"Yeah, you're a real Newt Scamander," Aaron said.

Charlie elbowed him in the ribs. "You arsehole."

Maddison leaned back against the sofa - trying to catch her breath - and wiped at her watering eyes. "You lot are all full-on mental now! What else did I miss?"

"Well, we're pretty sure Aaron has finally figured out how to use a fireplace and cast a decent illumination charm, and it's been a few years since he's gotten stranded on a staircase," Charlie said, "But he still can't get on a broom for shit."

"Right, tell me, who's the arsehole now?"

Eni took the bottle from Charlie and looked at Aaron. "I don't know. Sometimes I miss non-magical you. What was it you said to Snape that time he tried to make you cast a self-stirring charm on your cauldron? When he knew damn well you couldn't?"

Aaron raised an eyebrow. "When was this?"

Eni took a drink and winced as the whiskey burned her throat. "Had to be Third Year. It was when you were getting rather fed up with this place."

Maddison took the bottle from Eni. "I remember! He said, 'If it irritates you so much that I can't do it, then you cast it,' and left the room."

"Oh, fuck, that's right. I was cleaning cauldrons and vials for two weeks after that one. I was so over trying to use magic.” 

“Well, you more than made up for it a few months later.”

Tonks asked, "Didn't Charlie's mum have to knock you out?"

"You know, enough about me. Maddison, you've got the damn bottle. Share something."

Maddison took a long drink. "I'm never coming back, but you all probably knew that."

Tonks said, "I doubt any of us will want to see much of Hogwarts after next week."

"No," Maddison said. "I mean I'm going abroad for college, and leaving this whole damn world. I'm breaking my wand in half as soon as I take my last exam."

Eni leaned against the sofa next to her. "But you're brilliant with some of it. You could have taught Astronomy."

"Right. One of the few classes here that has any type of real world application. I'm so magically inclined."

"You could have worked at Gringotts or-"

"Cleaned rooms at the Hog's Head? Sold treats on the train twice a year? My father would _love_ that."

Maddison took another drink and wiped her mouth. "I tried, alright? I thought I was making connections and hanging out with the right people - because that's the only way to get anywhere in this damn world as a muggle-born. You all know that. It worked, for a bit, or I thought it did. I even knew enough people to get an interview at _The Prophet_. Fuck me if they don't need a reporter who doesn't spend their whole damn career catering to The Ministry and manufacturing consent. It took them three months to get back to me. When they finally did, they told me I could work the printing presses. Which, if you lot don't know, are ran out of a building in Croydon for some reason. One of my - friends? classmates? I don't know what they are now - told me it's because they found out I was muggle-born. They've never had a muggle-born on the writing staff, and they damn sure weren't going to start with me."

"That's a bunch of shit," Eni said.

"It doesn't matter. I'm not going to spend my life using charms to clean printing presses, so I'm going to college in The States. I got into a college in New York after killing myself to catch up with the rest of the world every summer, taking science and maths courses on my own."

"Bloody well done. I'll be going to The University of Liverpool myself. You're right - this world isn't much for a real education."

"But you've got a girlfriend with goblin blood," Maddison said, "you can't be leaving the magical world."

"I'm not. I'll be back often enough. I'm not ready to give up on it."

"Good on you, Eni."

Maddison looked from Eni to Tonks, to Aaron and Charlie. "Look, I know I've been a right bitch. Is there anyway we can all keep in touch? I've missed this. I want you lot back. I'll find a way to send a damn owl from the muggle world, if I have to."

"I don't know," Eni said. She took the more than half empty bottle from Maddison and took a drink. "I think we can all manage more than a few owls. They've got fireplaces in New York."

Maddison leaned into Eni and reached for her hand - like she did the night Eni climbed into the backseat of her mother's car, bleeding, shaking, and cold. Like she did when they'd sat next to each other on the train, laughing and trying to remember the charm that would dry their wet clothes and hair after running through the rain. "I wish I had known how to fix what happened between us when we were younger. We lost a lot of time."

Eni wrapped her arms around Maddison. "Then let's try to get it back."

* * *

Eni upended the bottle and drank the last mouthful of fire whiskey as she leaned against the wall next to the entryway to the Gryffindor common room. It was after three o'clock in the morning. Tonks and Maddison had left over an hour ago.

She lowered the bottle and looked at Aaron. "So much for studying this weekend. I didn't even look at the exam schedule. I have no idea which ones we've got tomorrow."

"You mean in five hours? We have the final for History of Magic in the morning and Defense Against the Dark Arts in the afternoon. History of Magic will be four hours of writing, and Defense Against the Dark Arts is almost all spellwork."

"Does . . . what was his name?"

"Moody. Alastor Moody."

"Does Moody even care if you pass anymore?"

"He cares quite a damn bit. I'm going to have to be outstanding and exceed some fucking expectations this week, or my arse is never leaving the kitchen."

"Shit, well, I went and ruined our last chance to prepare."

Aaron shrugged. "If we don't know the material now, two days of sitting in the library wasn't going to help. What you did - standing out there and telling them we weren't leaving - was a lot more important."

"It got people killed, Aaron."

"The people in that lobby have wanted to fight for a long time. They wanted to make a stand and do something The Ministry couldn't ignore. And you lit the fire to make that happen."

Eni shook her head. "There will be trials, and they're going to call witnesses, and people will have to-"

"Yes, and the people who were arrested are going to have their memories pulled as evidence. When they are, everyone will know that the security agents brutalized the protestors and Fudge released tear gas in an enclosed space full of people who did nothing to deserve it. The Ministry is going to have to answer for what happened. Now that Bones is involved - and Aurors like Moody can testify - those bastards can't hide in their offices and ignore muggle-borns anymore."

Eni took out her wand and cast _Depulso_ , sending the empty bottle to the rubbish bin. 

She pushed open the portrait of the fat lady and ignited the end of her wand. "I'm going to find a way to testify, too. I don't care if it means telling them I was the one who caused the explosion. I'll answer for it, but I want them to know why I did it."

"I can arrest you next week, Hand Magic. Let's get past our damn exams first."

Eni stood on her tip toes and kissed Aaron's chin. "Don't let Charlie spend the whole night on the floor."

"I won't," Aaron said. Eni stepped into the dark hallway. "Don't fall down the moving stairs."

Aaron didn't close the portrait until he lost sight of Eni and her glowing wand.

Aaron rubbed his eyes and walked across the common room. He nudged Charlie's leg with his foot.

Charlie stirred and opened his eyes. "Shit, how long was I out?"

"Not long," Aaron said. "Eni just left."

Charlie sat up and leaned against the bottom of the sofa. He looked up at Aaron. "Are you going to be able to sleep tonight, or do you want some Draught of Peace?"

"I'll take my chances and stay sober. I don't want to end up like the chimaera."

"What you and Eni told us - it sounded like you were in a war zone. You were _tear gassed_. You were finding bodies. I don't want you going mental, and I don't want what happened to fuck you up."

Aaron sat down next to Charlie. "I was fucked up a long time ago, Charlie. When I'm not exhausted, and I have time to think about what happened, I won't be anything but livid."

Charlie didn't say anything.

Aaron watched the dying fire. He was too tired to hide things anymore. "I'm not alright. I wasn't alright after the massacre or after we saw the trophy room or," he exhaled, "after I killed Samson Black."

"You _killed_ Samson Black? Jesus Christ. What happened? _The Prophet_ said he was dead but they never said what happened to him."

"He went after me and Maddison in Glasgow - you knew that much. I tried to stop him - I tried to fight him - but I couldn't, and he almost killed me. He had me bleeding and writhing on the pavement in an alleyway. He dodged everything I managed to send at him, until I cast the blasting curse. There wasn't much left of him after that."

"Fuck, Aaron."

"I don't want you thinking I did it because-"

"You did it because he was going to kill you. Fuck, mate. You shouldn't have had to take him on alone."

"I didn't have a choice. Bulstrode had Maddison."

"I wish I had been there. I wish I had been there for any of this awful shit."

"You've had enough of your own problems, Charlie. You shouldn't have had to carry Bennett's body across a field or had dragon poachers shoot the killing curse at your head."

Charlie moved until he was sitting across from Aaron. "Can we promise each other something? Before we get so far into this insane world that there's nothing left of who we are?"

"If it involves brooms, I'm out."

But Charlie was serious. "I don't want to lose you. So, promise me I won't."

_You're the one going to Romania and leaving me for -_

Aaron made himself stop. This wasn't Charlie's fault. He'd made his own choices, too.

They had always wanted such different things. Nothing would be the same after they left Hogwarts.

He tried to tell himself it would be fine, but the eleven year old in him was terrified.

"I don't think we can promise each other something like that," Aaron said.

"Yes, we can."

"Charlie," Aaron tried to keep his voice level, "people say things like that, but it never means anything. I don't want to lose you, either. I've just been in this situation so many times and I-"

"This isn't like when you were a kid, mate. You're the one who's in control now. I'm telling you I don't want to lose you. You mean too damn much to me."

_He has no idea._

_But I’m not THAT knackered._

"You do, too." Aaron wished he'd had more of the fire whiskey. "I've been so damn worried you were just going to run off to Romania and forget about me."

"There's no chance of that." Charlie leaned closer. "So, you have thought about this."

"To the point of trying to figure out how I could visit you in Romania, or meet you somewhere every once in awhile. I don't want to go our separate ways and never see each other again. But I didn't want you to think I-"

"I'd really like that," Charlie said.

”. . . You would?”

”Of course.”

"I mean, or, if you had time, you could come see Bill and me in London."

"I'll make time and I'll come see you. You helped me realize - a long time ago - that I isolate myself, and it's not healthy, even if it's when I'm working with dragons. I don't want to end up alone in tents in the rain for the rest of my life."

"Whenever you want company, just tell me when and where."

"And when all of the Auror shit is too much, you tell me the same," Charlie said. "Promise?"

"Yeah, promise," Aaron said.

"Good because if you turn into Moody I will sic a dragon on your arse."

Aaron smiled. "I don't doubt it."

It had to be late now. Aaron checked his watch. The house elves would be starting breakfast in another hour.

"Shit."

"What?"

"I forgot to check on the kitchen."

"Do you really still have to work down there?"

"Lara's off the grid and Eni's exhausted, so yes. I have to make sure the damn house elves haven't torn the place apart, check the inventory, and give them a meal plan, or we'll all be eating runny porridge this week."

Charlie stared at him. “You’ve gotten way too responsible in your old age.”

Aaron smiled. “Thanks for noticing. Shame you aren’t in charge of house points.”

"Do you want company?"

Aaron shook his head and walked towards the entryway. "It won't take me long, and I doubt I can sleep yet anyway."

"I'm not useless in a kitchen, despite my mother's long held beliefs."

Aaron shoved the portrait open.

"It's fine, Charlie. Get some sleep. I'll be right back."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next two chapters are long, intense, and contain the events that change the course of this story. They are written, but they are NOT edited. They are messy and need work. I'm not sure when I will finish them with actual work keeping me so busy right now, but I will post them as soon as possible.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading and making it this far.


	125. The Long Con

**April 1985**

_The exposed concrete columns on the thirty-first floor of the unfinished Millbank Tower created a wind tunnel effect; gusts raised the lowered the tarps covering crates of construction equipment and pallets of building materials, and tore at the loose shirt of the young man who walked to the open edge of the building. The windows wouldn't be installed for another six months._

_He reached for a safety barrier - a temporary wooden railing painted bright red - and climbed over the top, ignoring the posted warning signs. He found his footing and balanced on the other side, standing on a ledge a hundred meters above the ground._

_He took out his wand and checked his watch._

_When the sweeping second hand reached twelve, he let go of the railing, and jumped._

_The breath he'd held in his mouth was lost as he plummeted past the outside of the skyscraper._

_He gasped and counted over the roar of the rushing atmosphere. "One. Two. Three."_

_The Thames - and the road named after the building he'd jumped from - rushed at his flailing body._

_"Four."_

_His shirt billowed and twisted against his back._

_"Five."_

_He tore his wand through the air and screamed, "ACCIO COMET!"_

_The ground came closer. He clutched his wand and braced his body._

_A broom tore through the air. He grabbed the handle and pulled it under him._

_The Horton-Keitch Braking Charm brought him to a sudden stop twenty feet above the pavement. He checked his watch, laughed, and pulled his shirt down over his chest and stomach - hovering above the empty road._

_If any muggles had seen him, he didn't care._

_He was still laughing when he landed back on the thirty-first floor. He dismounted and pulled a sheet of folded notebook paper, and a pencil, out of his - still dry - pants._

_He pressed the lined paper against the bare floor and wrote, "MUCH faster response time when the charm was cast AFTER I jumped - once my heart was racing at a good click and I wasn't standing behind the railing. If I wait another second - and let myself feel more panic - will my broom arrive even faster? I intend to find out."_

Juliet pulled her head out of the pensieve and clutched the table, trying to shake the sensation of falling through the air.

She wiped memory residue off her face. _What a fucking mental maniac._

When the vertigo passed, she took the vial - labeled _Jacob Baker, 1963_ \- and collected the floating strands of memories. When they coalesced and siphoned themselves inside, she corked the vial and traded it for a quill.

Juliet leaned over the lower corner of her record book and wrote, _Confiscated Memory Number Four-Hundred and Twenty-Seven: Jacob Baker tests the response time of the summoning charm in 1963. His experiments seem to have proven that a summoned object will travel faster when the caster is experiencing a heightened state of distress, such as when their life is in danger. Even - it appears - if their imminent death was brought about by their own hand._

She re-labeled the vial and raised her wand, sending it to a clean cabinet filled with reviewed, documented, and organized memories. At least Jacob Baker's mind had been interesting. It was a much-needed break from witnessing the use of various scouring charms, wart-inflicting hexes, and clothes-tearing enchantments. There had been too many instances of the last one, and all of them had been used in erotic settings. Juliet wanted to confiscate them from her own head as soon as possible.

She had spent months in the storage closet by the armory, trying to bring order to the extensive collection of memories The Department of Magical Law Enforcement had taken from people over the centuries. The cabinets surrounding her made the room cluttered; there wasn't much space to stand. Forgotten vials and bottles overflowed from the shelves and drawers; transparent and colored glass stained with time. A lot of the deteriorated labels weren't legible, and twenty or so of the vessels had leaked, leaving behind sticky, useless remains. 

Juliet reached into the cabinet in the corner and choose the next memory at random, lifting a black vial out from the back of a shelf. She used a rag to wipe off the dust and grim coating the glass, and looked at the label. It read, _TO BE DESTROYED._

_This seems promising._

Juliet removed the cork and dumped the contents into the pensieve. She stirred the strands until they unraveled, set her wand on the cabinet next to the table, and submerged her head.

_Her ghost stood in the open doorway of the Wizengamot dungeon, watching a chaotic scene unfold. The circular court was loud and crowded; witches and wizards talked in groups and yelled over each other, facing the iron cage at the center of the room and pointing at the figure inside._

The memory was old - eighteenth century, Juliet guessed - and it hadn't been well-preserved. The edges of the scene dissolved into oblivion, leaving a half-formed version of the dungeon and faceless members of the court.

_Juliet walked toward the cage; passing remembered illusions of people who had died almost three centuries before she was born. Age and faded recollection cast everything in grey._

_An older woman looked out through the iron bars. Her wrists and ankles were restrained with shackles._

_Time jumped forward and left Juliet standing near the podium._

_The wizard addressing the Wizengamot faced the cage. "Y_ _ou have sat among us for over ten years now, claiming a fabricated magical heritage to which you had no rights. Posing as a worthy member of this court, you passed laws and made judgements that determined the fates of hundreds of people, most of whom were half- and pure-bloods. Because of you, our rulings were tainted; poisoned by your muggle-born influence. Even as you stand behind bars, you still insist that you belong on this court, and act as though your deceit can be allowed to go unpunished."_

_The old woman grabbed the bars and leaned forward. "I have never claimed to be anything other than a just and fair member of this Wizengamot. When I was recommended for the position, none of you asked about my heritage. I would still like to know why it is relevant."_

_A witch with an ambiguous face - sitting on Juliet's right - yelled, "Do you think any of us would have willingly allowed a muggle-born - a child of our enemies - to decide the fate of our people or our world?"_

_The old woman said, "Without muggle-borns, this world would have died out long ago. You would have had to keep inbreeding to save yourselves, a practice which has already led most of you to some less than desirable results."_

_Shouts came from the crowd._

_"Order," the man at the podium commanded. The uproar faded to a crescendo of whispered voices._

_He faced the woman in the cage. "Will you confess your crime? And reveal your true blood status?"_

_"I have committed no crime."_

_"Very well." The Minister of Magic raised his wand. "I would rather not have had to do this."_

_He pointed his wand at the old witch._

_The woman cried out as her palm was torn open. Blood from the wound collected between the cage and the podium._

_The Minister pulled at the blood with his wand and cast, "Genus Revelare."_

_The blood turned black; transformed into dirt. It crumbled and fell on the marble floor._

_The crowd erupted._

_The aged memory jumped forward and Juliet found herself walking down a hallway, dragging the woman from the cage toward what would one day become the Death Cell._

_The doors opened, and the woman was chained beneath the waiting blade of a guillotine._

_The distorted room faded to darkness._

Juliet pulled her head out of the pensieve. Her arms shook.

_my god_

The Wizengamot had used blood magic to determine if one of their own was muggle-born.

Juliet watched the churning white strands.

_they killed her_

_for daring to stand with them_

The woman hadn't screamed when they dragged her from the dungeon. No one in ear-shot would have tried to save her.

Juliet collected the memory and sealed the vial.

She leaned over the ledger, and hesitated before she wrote, _Confiscated Memory Number Four-Hundred and Twenty-Eight: The magical heritage of a Wizengamot member is called into question. The Minister of Magic confronted a caged witch and openly used blood magic to determine if she was muggle-born. The dangerous spell appears to provide an effective means of determining the blood status of the intended target. Once the woman was outed as a muggle-born, she was dragged from the dungeon and_

Juliet stopped writing. 

_TO BE DESTROYED_

_Those bigots. They've been at this for centuries._

_How many times was something like this done? How often was blood magic used against muggle-borns?_

She put down the quill.

_If there's a record, what's to stop the Wizengamot - or The Ministry - from doing something like this again, and using this memory as a justification?_

She threw the vial on the floor. It shattered - leaving fragments of glass and spilled remains of recollection on the stone.

She dragged her heel through the shards and dissolving fluid, rendering it unsalvageable.

A voice behind her said, "I take it that memory was less than desirable."

Juliet turned around. A man a few years older than her stood in the doorway. She had never seen him before.

"Who let you in here?"

"No one."

"If you're looking for Burke, the best I can do is give you some parchment so you can leave her a message. She's not here."

"No one's here," the man said, "it's just you and me."

"What do you want?"

The man kept his eyes on her face. "You're Juliet Walker. I read about you in _The Prophet_ last summer. You're the first muggle-born Auror to be accepted by The Department of Magical Law Enforcement in over a decade."

"That would be me - living proof that affirmative action is alive and well in this shit world."

"It is refreshing to see signs of progress."

"Look, I have work to do, and quite a lot of it. So, if you don't need-"

The man raised his arm. Juliet saw the wand pressed against his palm as her body was paralyzed by _Petrificus Totalus_. Before she fell, he cast a levitation charm, leaving her floating a few inches above the floor.

He walked past her and looked at the cabinets. "You've been busy. The last time I was in this room, it took me three weeks to find anything of substance."

_NO NO NO NO NO_

The man leaned over the table and read through her notes. When he got to the last entry, he picked up the ledger and read it again.

He looked at her. "Is this true?"

Juliet couldn't respond.

"You fucking little mudblood. You don't know what you've found, do you?"

He looked down. "That was it, wasn't it? You found the ancestry charm inside a memory, and you destroyed it."

The man tried to siphon the remains of Confiscated Memory Number Four-Hundred and Twenty-Eight off the floor. The ruined substance fell apart and dripped off his wand; useless.

He grabbed her throat and pressed his thumb against her windpipe. "I can't blame you. It is a . . . dangerous enchantment, for someone of your status."

_This fuck is psychotic._

_Stop panicking and THINK._

He released her neck. "I suppose it doesn't matter. You've seen it. I'll take it from your head."

She waited for him to raise his wand. He didn't.

He reached for her forehead, and everything went dark.

Juliet didn't know how much time passed when she came to - still paralyzed and floating in the air.

The man stood across from her. He smiled. "Why, Juliet, aren't you full of surprises? You should have told me about your abilities. No wonder you were allowed to become an Auror. You were too special to ignore."

He hadn't just seen the memory and the blood magic charm; he had gone through her head.

_He can view memories by touching people - like I can; like he KNOWS I can._

"I have to tell you, my intentions today were to find you, drag your paralyzed body to the Wizengamot dungeon, and open your throat, but now you've gone and proven yourself to be useful. I think I'll keep you around, and make sure any other discoveries you make can be . . . shared between us."

_NO YOU PSYCHOPATH_

"It's alright, Juliet. You won't remember any of this, and you'll forgive me. The next time I come and find you, you'll welcome me right into your living room."

Theshan Nott grabbed Juliet's head. 

* * *

**June 1991**

Juliet's jacket - covered with blood and saturated with tear gas - laid in a heap on her kitchen floor. The lingering fumes made her eyes water. She kicked it under the table and took a glass out of the cabinet by the sink.

Lara had been dead for forty-eight hours.

Juliet wiped her burning eyes, turned on the faucet, and filled the glass with water.

_Was there anything else I could have done?_

_Maybe if I had found her before all of this got out of hand; if I hadn't been so focused on finding her that I made her scared - and I made her run._

She shut off the water, and drained the glass.

_I fucked up. Ten ways to hell._

Juliet left the glass on the counter and walked back into the living room. She leaned against the wall by the window and looked down at the street - at muggles carrying groceries and waiting at the bus stop on the corner.

Moody had stood over Lara's impaled body and told Juliet it wasn't her fault - she had been defending herself, and Lara hadn't been lucky. A few feet to the left - or to the right - and she would have survived her fall with nothing more than a few deep cuts.

"I'll look at your memories later, if you keep beating yourself up over this."

Juliet looked down at Lara's body. "She knew my sister. She's the one I've been trying to find."

"She had a knife to your throat, the way Fudge and Umbridge tell it. Go home and rest. We'll sit down at my kitchen table on Monday morning and sort through this. Her death wasn't intentional."

Juliet walked to her desk and picked up the vial she had taken out of her cupboard that morning; a black fluid streaked with gold.

Intentional or not, the final ingredient was soaked into the discarded pile of fabric on her kitchen floor.

Juliet opened one of the vials and poured the contents into her cauldron. She stirred the potion until the gold streaks reflected the setting sun.

_knock knock knock_

"Jules? Are you in there?"

She left the potion to settle and walked across the living room.

"Jules, if you're there, please open the door. I don't blame you for what-"

Juliet unlocked her front door and pulled it open. Her sister stood in the hallway.

"What are you doing here, Ros?"

"I wanted to make sure you're alright."

"That's a change."

"Jules-"

"I'm about the same as I was when you left The Ministry yesterday - hurting, upset, and trying to convince myself not to down an entire bottle of Draught of Peace."

"I feel the same way," Rosaline said. "Can I come in?"

Juliet stepped out of the way and waved her sister inside. Rosaline walked past her - through an invisible veil of enchantments. Juliet never cast wards that kept out her family.

She closed the door and slid the three deadbolts back into place. "I'd offer you tea, but all I've got is tap water. And some stale biscuits."

Rosaline sat down on the sofa. "I'd rather not have anything in my stomach."

Juliet leaned against the high-backed chair she'd liberated from an alleyway two years ago. "You didn't just come to check on me. What do you want?"

"I want you to excavate my mind."

Juliet shook her head. "I'm never doing that again."

"Jules, you have to know what-"

"No. Things have never been the same between us since I got in your head."

"You didn't mean to. You were a child."

"Not to you. I went from being your kid sister to being a monster in the time it took me to watch David drown in the lake."

"What you can do is unique; I didn't understand it."

"You still don't," Juliet said. "You don't want me in your head."

Rosaline leaned across the coffee table and reached for Juliet's hand. Juliet pulled away.

"There's so much I never told you, Jules, because I was afraid - of you, and The Ministry. I'm the one who damaged whatever relationship we used to have. I couldn't save Lara - and I couldn't save Sam - but I want you back."

Juliet exhaled and sat down in the chair. "Ros, you're upset about the protest, and Lara. I think you're still in shock. You don't mean any of this."

"Then get in my head and make sure I do."

"Whatever you came here to tell me, just say it. Tell me whatever it is you've kept from me. I don't have to go inside your head."

"You don't have to," Rosaline said, "but I want you to. I don't want to leave you wondering if I've told you everything. This way, you won't be left with any doubts."

Juliet pulled the high-backed chair closer to Rosaline and leaned forward until her eyes were aligned with her sister's. "I know about Burke. I know Lara was involved. Were you?"

"Yes."

"And you still want me in your head?"

"Yes."

Juliet looked down. "If I do this - if I see what you've done - I can't promise it will fix anything between us."

"I know that," Rosaline said, "but I'm done keeping things from you."

Juliet looked up and raised her hands. "Then hold still, focus on the memories you want me to see, and keep your breathing steady."

Juliet pulled herself inside her sister's head.

_Dense clouds of pain and grief permeated Rosaline's conscious and subconscious thoughts, leaving Juliet trapped in a heavy fog. She choked on the sensations and forced her way through the mass._

_Rosaline was in shock, and she was in pain. The shock was recent; the pain wasn't. It had been in her mind for a long time, and it was comfortable. Juliet wasn't ready to find out why._

_She shoved herself out of the fog -_

_\- and backed into a broken kitchen cabinet. A shattered cup and spilled tea covered the floor. There were more pieces - and more tea - than there should have been. Rosaline's mind had latched onto this part of the memory and duplicated it, for whatever reason, leaving shards of ceramic and chamomile all over the tile._

_Juliet realized where she was. Her sister stood in the doorway of Adelaide Burke's kitchen. Lara had Burke chained to a wooden chair._

_She leered at the former director. "Do you have any idea what it's like to be muggle-born right now?"_

_Juliet watched Lara tell Burke to destroy the registry, and the trace._

_When Lara used the Cruciatus Curse to break Burke, Rosaline didn't stop her._

_Blood ran from Burke's mouth and Juliet heard her own name._

_Juliet, her sister thought. It's Juliet's trace._

_When Burke stopped screaming, Rosaline lifted her broken body out of the chair and apparated her to the street in front of Purge and Dowse, LTD._

_The memory faded, and left Juliet in darkness._

_She felt the cold wind on her back before the next memory solidified. Rosaline was on her broom, flying through the clouds._

_She looked so much younger._

_What is this, Ros?_ Juliet asked. _Why are you showing me this?_

_There was no reply._

_Rosaline plummeted beneath the clouds._

_The next thing Juliet saw was sunlight reflecting off railroad tracks._

_Rosaline raised her wand and sent a torrent of summoned mud at the oncoming train; the Hogwarts Express._

_Jesus Christ, no. Ros. Not the train._

_Her sister wasn't alone - seven others sent directed streams of mud at the Hogwarts Express._

_The trolley witch stood on a platform between two train cars. Two men on brooms circled her. Mud covered the old woman's body as she climbed the ladder on the side of the closest car, and raised her wand, sending BANG blasts of BANG BANG red light at the attackers._

_Rosaline lowered her wand. Lara flew next to her._

_"It isn't stopping," Rosaline said._

_"It will stop. We tested the enchantments. We made sure."_

_Torrents of mud shook the train. Screams came from the cars._

_"No. It's not stopping."_

_The windows of the nearest train car shattered. The next car collapsed._

_Rosaline screamed and raced towards the train, flying into the driving mud. She cast a shield and tore ahead, trying to expand it and pull it around the train._

_The trolley witch hit a man on a broom with the blasting curse - his body exploded in the air._

_Another stream of mud knocked the trolley witch off the train. Lara dove past Rosaline - trying to catch the old woman - but it was too late._

_When the train stopped - and the mud didn't - Rosaline abandoned her broom and ran for the nearest car; toward the screams._

_Lara - covered in mud - grabbed her. "We have to get out of here."_

_"No, we can't leave them to die in the-"_

_The onslaught of mud stopped. The spells were spent._

_"They'll kill us for this. They'll drag us to the Death Cell for what we've done here."_

_"Children are dying inside of this car!"_

_Lara grabbed Rosaline's mud-covered arm CRACK and apparated her to a tunnel beneath Hogsmeade._

_Rosaline screamed._

_Juliet was left in darkness - shocked, horrified, and - she realized - crying._

_Rosaline's tortured mind asked her, Did you see what I've done? Did you watch me kill those children?_

_It wasn't your fault, Juliet told her. You didn't-_

_I called the mud. I let Lara keep me in that tunnel until screams came from Hogsmeade._

_It was an accident, you never meant for-_

_Take me before the Wizengamot, and see if they feel the same way._

_Rosaline's thoughts plunged into a vacuum of grief. Juliet held onto her sister's fragile mind, looking for a way out of this dangerous state. She took Rosaline's memory of the train and coated it with the dull sensation of fading time - trying to numb her pain._

_Then, she reached into her sister's mind, and looked for strong memories._

_When the darkness lifted, she saw herself - standing in the middle of the road that led to Hogsmeade._

_Twelve year old Juliet said, "I'm not afraid of Death Eaters."_

_"I don't doubt that," Rosaline said, "but it won't stop them from grabbing your muggle-born arse."_

_Cassio said, "You lot are all out here."_

_Something was wrong with the memory. It was -_

_\- stretched. Distorted._

_And Rosaline hadn't remembered it right. Cassio wasn't on the road with them that day._

_Was he?_

_The scene dissolved._

_Juliet tried again - looking for anything familiar in her sister's tortured mind. It had been so long since they'd been together._

_Rosaline's voice cut through the darkness. "They'll turn on you, too, one day, your Ministry."_

_Juliet saw herself, standing in the hallway outside Rosaline's flat._

_"I don't have any illusions that they won't. My name is already on their list, right there with you and Cassio."_

_Rosaline's thoughts scattered, and Juliet heard a voice that didn't belong in her sister's head._

_Juliet choked back bile._

_She'd pulled the same voice out of Emily Carrow's memories; out of the memories of every one of the captured killers._

_Theshan Nott's voice told Rosaline, Cassio is your brother. He is Juliet's twin. Cassio is your brother._

_Rosaline told her sister, "Cassio and you can both fuck off. You're shit Aurors. And you can't solve the murders."_

_NO_

Juliet pulled herself out of Rosaline's head. She ran to the kitchen and threw up in the sink.

_HE WAS IN HER HEAD. THAT PSYCHOPATH WAS IN HER HEAD._

_HE TOLD HER -_

_JESUS CHRIST_

Juliet fell on the floor, choking on the contents of her stomach. Rosaline reached for her.

"Jules, what happened?"

_NO NO NO_

Juliet shook.

"Juliet?!"

_NO NO NO NO NO NO NO_

She raised her hands - grabbed her own head - and pulled herself inside.

_Juliet tore through her memories, looking for Cassio._

_He was there when she was three years old, reaching for Rosaline's hand in their back yard. He was there when her mother died, holding her and crying. He was on the road with her, following Rosaline, Sam, and Lara to Hogsmeade. He was in the Potions classroom with her, adding ingredients to their shared cauldron. He was there when Alastor Moody raised his wand and let her out of a holding cell. He was there when she passed her final tests and became an Auror. Her brother was THERE._

_Only he wasn't. All of the memories wavered - stretched and distorted from what they had been; expanded to fit someone who didn't belong._

_Juliet kept going._

_Cassio stood in the hallway next to her, outside of Albert Daven's flat; he took photographs inside a dark stairwell; he was in the infirmary, handing her a vial to help with her pain; and he was at St. Mungo's, watching Alice Longbottom grab Aaron Stone._

_The last memories weren't distorted. They had all happened._

_What is going on?_

_Did I imagine all of it then?_

_Time jumped forward._

_Cassio stood in her living room. He ran his fingers along the scar on her neck._

_"You aren't imagining anything, Juliet."_

He had implanted himself in all of their heads; altered their memories.

Juliet took her hands off her head. And screamed.

Rosaline held her. "Juliet?! What the fuck is happening?!"

She tried to stand, and fell. Rosaline grabbed her.

"Ros, you can't stay here - you can't be anywhere near me."

"You saw the train. I will never forgive myself for-"

Juliet shoved herself away from Rosaline, grabbed onto the edge of the counter, and dry heaved over the sink. "This isn't about the train - or anything you've done. Ros, one of the killer's has been inside your head. He knows where you live; he knows about Anna and Tom; he knows everything about your life. He knew where to find Sam because he saw her in-"

"What are you talking about?"

Juliet wiped her mouth. "Cassio isn't real."

"Cassio is my brother. He is your twin. He is my brother."

"I know that's what you think - it's still what I think, but he's not. And he's going to kill you. You have to take Anna and Tom, and you have to leave. You have to run, Ros. You have to run."

"I can't-"

"Forget about Cassio, if it confuses you. Just take your family and run. Don't let him - or me - anywhere near you."

"Juliet-"

Juliet wrapped her arms around her sister, and held her like she hadn't since she was eleven years old - since they stood together on a hidden platform in London, waiting for a red train.

She let herself cry - and hold on for another moment. "Promise me you'll run. Now."

"I will. Come with us."

Juliet pulled out of her sister's embrace and shook her head. "No, I have to make sure he can't find you."

"No, if Cassio is one of the killers, you can't confront him by yourself."

"I'm not going to," Juliet said. "I'm going to do what I should have done four years ago. I'm going to destroy the trace."

* * *

**December 1988**

Cassio shoved Juliet's paralyzed body against the far wall of the storage closet he had ransacked and turned into an office - the room that had once held nine-hundred and seventy-three vials of confiscated memories. 

He twisted his wand into her neck. "You fucking mudblood. Did I take it too far? Did my telling Burke about our little trace set you off? Did it make you question your dear brother's motives?"

He turned his wand on himself and pulled the enchantment off his face; transforming from her non-existent brother into a man she had never seen before. He left his voice modified.

A stranger spoke to her in Cassio's voice. "Do you remember me now?"

_YOU PSYCHOPATH_

"I must not have gone deep enough the last time we stood in this room. I'll have to embed Cassio farther into your memories."

He reached for her forehead. "My poor confused sister."

* * *

**December 1989**

Cassio _Theshan Nott remember that he's Theshan Nott_ held a knife to Juliet's throat. "This is the third time you've let me get close enough to hit you with _Petrificus Totalus_. Will you ever learn?"

_CASSIO DOESN'T EXIST CASSIO DOESN'T EXIST CASSIO DOESN'T EXIST_

"I suppose not, if you never remember our encounters."

Cassio left Juliet suspended in the air and looked through the one-way concrete wall. Emily Carrow sat inside - chained to the floor and wall. Alastor Moody stood over her.

"I knew you'd see your dear brother's face in her memories. I was too comfortable around Carrow - letting her see this side of me on occasion. And I never thought you would take her alive."

_CASSIO DOESN'T EXIST CASSIO DOESN'T EXIST CASSIO DOESN'T EXIST_

"Of course, having someone who can pull themselves and other people through space with a touch - and shut down other people's apparition - creates quite an opportunity."

Moody asked Carrow a question. The woman didn't respond.

"I am sorry I intercepted you before you found Alastor. I bet he would have had a lot of good theories about what you saw."

_CASSIO DOESN'T EXIST CASSIO DOESN'T EXIST CASSIO DOESN'T EXIST_

Cassio turned his back on the scene in the interrogation room and pressed the edge of his knife into Juliet's neck. Blood trickled down her throat. "Now, before our mentor comes out here and finds us in this heightened state of sibling rivalry, let me give you a new reality."

He reached for her head.

* * *

**June 1991**

Juliet staggered through the arrivals lobby atrium, tripping over the remains of the astronomical clock. The debris had settled; the marble tiles were covered with fragmented pieces of plaster and stone, and streaked with blood. Lingering remnants of tear gas made her eyes and lungs burn.

_The killers never duplicated our trace. They never needed to._

_It always belonged to them - to HIM._

Juliet walked down the stairwell. 

_He's not your brother. None of that was real._

_Cassio doesn't exist._

She reached the second floor and climbed over piles of broken furniture, lamps, and what had been pieces of the ceiling and walls.

A light came from the storage closet at the end of the hallway.

The killing curse was on the end of her tongue when she shoved the door open.

The room was empty, apart from an old table. And it was small - transformed back to its original size. Empty vials littered the floor, covered with numbered labels in her handwriting.

The trace - the binding and ancestry enchantments used to create and maintain it - the maps used to visualize it - and the ledger of names - were gone.

Juliet kicked the table into the far wall. Something had been carved into its top surface.

_DID YOU FIGURE IT OUT AGAIN, JULIET?_

"YOU FUCKING PSYCHOPATH!"

She had to tell Moody. And Aaron.

_CASSIO DOESN'T EXIST CASSIO DOESN'T EXIST CASSIO DOESN'T EXIST_

Juliet reached into her pockets - and came up with nothing.

_Where's the damn transfer parchment?_

It was in her jacket. Her blood-soaked jacket.

Juliet ran back to the atrium.

_CASSIO DOESN'T EXIST CASSIO DOESN'T EXIST CASSIO DOESN'T EXIST_

She crossed the apparition boundary on the marble floor _CRACK_ and appeared in Moody's apartment.

"Moody?!"

She walked through his kitchen, his living room, and pulled open his bedroom door. He wasn't there.

Juliet apparated -

\- and appeared in her kitchen. She got on her hands and knees and fumbled between the legs of the table and chairs.

The jacket wasn't there.

_Did Rosaline see it? Did she know who's blood it was and decide to destroy it?_

Juliet stood up. And walked into her living room.

A swaying shadow hung in front of the window.

At first, Juliet's shock kept her from screaming - and processing what she was seeing.

Rosaline's mutilated body floated in the air.

"R-ROS?!"

Juliet grabbed her sister's legs and pulled her out of the air - screaming.

"ROS! ROS!"

Rosaline's blood covered the sofa and the high-backed chair. It dripped from the walls and the ceiling, and pooled on her desk.

Juliet collapsed on the floor, cradling what was left of her sister against her chest. Her head had been detached.

A dripping _M_ marked her forehead.

_NO NO NO NO NO_

_ROSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS_

Sobs shook Juliet's chest. She couldn't breathe.

She screamed - a horrible, guttural sound she couldn't control.

_ROS OH GOD ROS_

Juliet's body went rigid - and fell back on the blood-covered floor. The impact jarred her vision. She couldn't close her eyes.

Cassio stood over her. "Well done, dear sister."

_NO_

Cassio surveyed the living room. Blood spatter covered his face and chest. "This has been a long time coming, Juliet, but it seems the first phase of our little game has come to an abrupt end. Did you forget you and Rosaline were marked with the trace? That I could see you in here together, taking too much time to cry and tell each other how sorry you were? I came to check on you - my dear sisters - right after you left, and found Rosaline alone and confused. I wish I could say she put up a fight, but she's no Auror. I was just glad I had time to beat you to The Ministry. It is convenient having my own back door."

He bent down and wiped the tears off her face with his stained fingers - leaving streaks of blood behind. "Oh, Juliet. Didn't anyone ever tell you that your story is a tragedy?"

_YOU FUCKING MURDERING PSYCHOPATH_

_ROOOOSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS_

"Don't worry. I'm going to let you remember all of this."

Cassio reached behind the sofa, and pulled out the blood-covered jacket. "Moody told me what you did to Lara. I should thank you. I never did get around to altering her memories. If you had talked to her more - and if Rosaline had talked to her about anything besides going after The Ministry - maybe we would have found ourselves in this situation sooner."

He walked to her cauldron and submerged the jacket. "You've always been so eager to get inside my labyrinth; my soon to be - thanks to Moody's other protégé - irrelevant labyrinth."

He took the jacket out of the cauldron, pulled Juliet to a sitting position, and tugged it over her shoulders. "Why don't I give you a tour?"

_NO_

_OH GOD_

_TEN WAYS TO HELL_

_JESUS CHRIST_

_ROS_

He grabbed her arm and dragged her across the room - to her hallway mirror.

Cassio _THESHAN NOTT PSYCHOPATH THESHAN NOTT_ yanked her to her feet. 

"After you, sister."

He shoved her paralyzed body forward - through the enchanted glass.


	126. Vanishing Act, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes detailed descriptions of events and topics that may be triggering and difficult to read, including mental/psychological abuse, violence, and infant endangerment. Proceed with caution . . . and hold onto something.
> 
> It took me awhile to write and edit this one, and I still didn't manage to finish it. I will try to post the second part before Thanksgiving weekend is over. Here's to hoping this long heartbreaker was worth the wait.

**February 1972**

Rain hit the window between the oak bookcase and the worn leather couch in Abigail's office. It had snowed the week before, and it was still cold. The historic building that housed the literature and languages department didn't have central heat. A radiator in the corner by the door gave off just enough warmth to keep her fingers from going numb.

Abigail added a graded essay to the stack on her left and reached for the next paper; fifteen double-spaced pages scattered with blots of whiteout and misaligned typewriter print.

Her coffee had gone cold. She drank it anyway.

The first two pages weren't all that bad, but Christophe Fournier – who always sat near the back of the auditorium during her lectures – had botched the Dumas quote, she was sure of it.

Abigail stood up, stretched a bit, and went to her bookcase. She moved a few short story collections out of the way and took _The Count of Monte Cristo_ off one of the lower shelves. She leaned against her desk and flipped through the book. There it was – underlined with faded ink from her undergraduate days.

Abigail crossed out Christophe's _it's like he wasn't even trying to get it right_ inaccurate words and wrote the correct quote in the margin.

_"Life is a storm, my young friend. You will bask in the sunlight one moment, be shattered on the rocks the next. What makes you a man is what you do when that storm comes."_

The struggling radiator clanked. 

_Enough of this._

Abigail picked up her mug.

_There's no reason I should be drinking cold coffee, at least._

She wrapped her fingers around the ceramic and whispered the charm she had learned two months ago, when they'd been in the park beneath the lights and her threadbare gloves weren't enough to keep off the cold.

Heat collected in her palms and warmed the mug until steam rose from the contents. Abigail took a drink of her _much-improved_ coffee and finished reading the essay.

The rest of the paper was decent enough to earn a passing grade. She marked the first page with a red eleven and added it to the stack.

_CLANG_

The slide bolt on her door broke apart and fell on the floor.

Abigail jumped, dropped her pen, and grabbed the lamp on her desk.

The knob turned.

She raised the lamp over her head –

\- and swore at the man who opened the door.

"Nom de dieu de merde, would it have killed you to knock? I almost hit you with this damn thing." Abigail set the lamp back on her desk and shook with receding adrenaline.

"I wasn't even sure this was your office. There aren't any names on the doors. It's all numbers, and I couldn't find a directory."

"How many other locks did you plan on vandalizing before you got lucky?"

He closed the door. "As many as I had to. When you weren't home, I was worried that something happened."

"I had to finish grading papers, you knew that."

"I didn't think it would take the whole bloody night."

Abigail walked past him and picked up what was left of the slide bolt. "Is this too intricate for one of your mending charms? There's no telling when I'll be able to get maintenance to come up here."

"I'll take care of it. I'm good for a lot more than being sworn at in French."

She smiled and set the lock on her desk.

"I apologize - once again - for encroaching on your privacy. I never meant to frighten you. I had to make sure you were alright. After what I told you this morning, I wasn't sure if-"

"If I decided you weren't worth the trouble? I'm not afraid of your wife, or her insane family."

"Abigail, I don't think you understand. If they knew-"

She reached up and touched the side of his face; moved her thumb over the stubble on his chin. "They don't. No one knows."

His hair and clothes were wet. How long had he stood in the rain - on the steps outside of her door - before he realized she wasn't home? How much self-restraint had he used to keep himself from _what does he call it_ appearing right in the middle of her deserted kitchen instead?

_He has a right to be worried. And we both have a lot to lose._

She lowered her hand. "If you don't want to do this anymore-"

"The problem," he said, "is that I want to do nothing else."

He leaned down and kissed her.

Abigail reached for the back of his neck and pulled him closer; the dark-haired man who had taught her magic.

He picked her up, closing the distance between them. She wrapped her legs around his body and held onto his shoulders. Her loose hair fell forward as she kissed him. She laughed as he stopped kissing her long enough to tuck the strands behind her ear.

He carried her across the room and leaned her against the wall above the radiator - against a blackboard covered with smeared chalk and torn pieces of tape. When it was too much, he laid her down on the couch, took off his coat, and reached for the buttons on her sweater. The frayed wool was wet from prolonged contact with his clothes. She didn't care.

Abigail pulled his shirt over his head, and kissed his chest as the rain fell.

* * *

**June 1991**

The stairwell was dark. It should have been the first sign that something was wrong.

Aaron ignited the end of his wand - and the lanterns mounted on the walls - and made his way down to the kitchen.

He tripped as he walked through the entryway, grabbed onto a cabinet to stop his fall, and pointed his glowing wand at the floor. A torn sack of rice lay at his feet. White grains were scattered across the worn stones.

Aaron looked across the dark room - at the shadowed tables and shelves - at stacks of unwashed dishes piled on the countertops and in the sinks. An overturned stool was in front of the pantry, and broken glass littered the floor by his preparation station.

_What happened while I was gone?_

He walked into the next room. The stoves and ovens that had roared with perpetual burning fires for as long as he could remember were dark. The embers and charred pieces of wood left inside the fireboxes and hearths were cold.

Aaron aimed his wand at the lanterns hanging from the ceiling - at the stoves and the ovens - and cast fast, controlled bursts of _Incendio_ until the room filled with firelight.

Lara's cot was in the corner. It hadn't been slept in.

He followed a trail of broken dishes back to the adjacent room, and picked up the stool. The pantry door was cracked a few inches off its frame.

Aaron pulled it open.

The shattered crates that had fallen - or been thrown, it wasn't clear - from the top shelves had crashed into the wooden railings, platforms, and pulleys as they plummeted, leaving the intricate walkway and hoist system in ruins; collapsed and hanging off what was left of its supports.

An unstable platform swayed thirty feet above his head. Aaron hit it with _Wingardium Leviosa_ to keep it from falling, and tried to get past the door. The floor was covered with debris; leaking barrels he couldn't identify, packing straw, half of a ladder that used to be attached to one of the high platforms, and protruding, fractured pieces of the destroyed walkways.

_Seriously, what happened?_

He lit the lanterns surrounding him and scanned the shelves. There wasn't much left that could be salvaged.

This hadn't been done by a few house elves trying to run the kitchen without direction, or even Lara taking out her frustrations. Someone who didn't give a shit about the damage they left in their wake had been down here.

Aaron yanked off the ring.

_Where are you._

A statue of death, low hanging tree branches, and dark rows of faded headstones merged with the distorted boundaries of the pantry. Aaron had summoned the last place he had seen Dumbledore; the graveyard in Godric's Hollow. He manipulated the layer until he could see the extents of the burial ground. Wreaths made of wisteria were tied to the crooked iron gates at the entrance and lampposts stood watch over decrepit mausoleums. 

No one was there.

The abandoned house was close. He reached for the neglected structure and forced it to appear. Decayed floorboards and a dust-covered fireplace collided with the graveyard and the pantry.

It was empty.

Aaron summoned the library, the Transfiguration classroom, and the closet where he had found the restricted books. When the features of each location stabilized, he added the sealed-off Underground station and the Wizengamot dungeon - just to be sure.

Nothing. He kept looking.

Dumbledore's office was dark. The phoenix was asleep. 

_You know where he is._

Aaron folded space -

\- and summoned Privet Drive.

Albus Dumbledore stood on the sidewalk in front of the house where Harry Potter slept.

Aaron suppressed the rest of the layers until all he saw was Number Four, Dumbledore, and the ransacked pantry.

Ten minutes passed. The old wizard didn't move.

Aaron rubbed his eyes and leaned against the doorframe. Even with the house elves, it would take a few days to set the pantry right. 

Dumbledore walked to the driveway.

_He doesn't look pissed, at least. Or unhinged._

_Apart from the fact that he's standing outside a house that isn't his at four o'clock in the morning._

Aaron realized he hadn't checked the freezing chamber. If it hadn't been this thoroughly torn apart, he could leave instructions for a few different meat and dairy-heavy meals, but he'd still have to place an emergency order for a few other essentials to get them through the week.

Another ten minutes passed. Dumbledore still stood in the driveway.

Aaron noticed small footprints scattered in the spilled flour beneath his shoes.

_You were wrong. This was the house elves, not Dumbledore._

_Get some sleep and stop being so damn paranoid._

Dumbledore walked toward the front door of Number Four Privet Drive and raised his wand. The end glowed _Stupefy_ red.

_Shit, no, I wasn't wrong._

Dumbledore reached for the door.

Aaron pulled himself through space, and grabbed Dumbledore.

_CRACK_

They appeared on the gravel-covered rooftop in Edinburgh.

Aaron hadn't made the transition easy. Dumbledore staggered and grabbed onto an air handling unit for support.

"What were you doing?"

"None of this is your concern, you insolent-"

"Yes, it is," Aaron said. "Stay away from that house."

Aaron couldn't remember the last time he had looked Dumbledore in the face. They were the same height now, and Azkaban had aged him. Deep lines surrounded the corners of his mouth and spread across his forehead. The skin beneath his eyes - and covering his hands - was blotched and thin.

Dumbledore looked down and said, more to himself than to Aaron, "I should have saved Harry long ago."

_Because you're so fucking capable of saving people._

"Saved him from what?"

"His life with those damn muggles."

"Were you planning on pulling him out of bed in the middle of the night, or just leaving him alone to find what was left of his family in the morning?"

Dumbledore let go of the mechanical equipment. "I am surprised, Aaron, that you - of all the children I have brought into this world - would want me to leave the boy in a home where he is being mistreated."

Aaron clenched his glowing wand. He could still see Privet Drive. "How long has this been going on?"

"A year or so before you and Alastor decided to imprison me, I noticed Harry was-"

"You've known he was being abused for years and you _left him there_?"

"Filius is a competent instructor. I am sure he taught you about the Bond of Blood. It has kept the boy safe, but I am afraid it has also made removing him from his less than desirable situation rather . . . complicated."

Aaron's hands shook. It wasn't from folding space. He had to stop himself from raising his wand.

"That charm will only protect him from the person who tried to kill him," Aaron said. "And Voldemort is dead."

Dumbledore watched him. "You and I both know that isn't what you believe. Don't you ever get tired of hiding who you are?"

"Don't try to turn this on me. You left a child alone in a house with people you knew were abusing him, and now you're trying to justify it with a charm that won't do a damn thing to protect him if anyone who isn't that dead sociopath comes after him."

"The boy has never been alone. I have always watched him from a distance. I know what he has-"

"No," Aaron said. He was eight years old again; cowering on a vinyl floor with a bleeding arm. "You have no idea."

He watched Privet Drive flicker against the gravel and the dark sky. He couldn't leave Harry in that house.

He looked back at Dumbledore. "I'm going to get him out of there tomorrow, whether that means I have to contact London social services or find someone in the magical world who can take him in until he can come to Hogwarts. The last thing he needs is for someone as unstable as you to pull him out of that house."

"I have to-"

"You've done enough damage," Aaron said. He could see an empty cell in Azkaban. "If you go near that house again, you won't find yourself on a roof in Edinburgh the next time I grab you."

"Is that your goal, Aaron? To get me out of the way and leave the boy unprotected and vulnerable?"

"You did that to him a long time ago."

"Or, perhaps you've always had higher aspirations. After all, you have managed to work your way into a much more influential position. You certainly have Alastor fooled."

Aaron summoned the Gryffindor common room. He was done.

Dumbledore walked toward Aaron, and studied his face in the dim light of the surrounding city. "You look more like him now than ever."

Aaron watched the fireplace, red and yellow banners, and the sofa he'd leaned against - not thirty minutes ago - layer over Edinburgh, and told Dumbledore, "I look nothing like Tom Riddle."

"Not Riddle," Dumbledore said. "Merlin's beard, do you really not know who you are?"

_Enough secrets. Call his damn bluff._

"Why don't you tell me? Since you've always been so hung up on it."

"I can do much more than that."

Dumbledore reached for his arm. Aaron let him take it.

_CRACK_

They appeared in his office.

Fawkes screeched and flapped his wings. Aaron backed away from the bird.

Dumbledore opened a cabinet behind his desk and removed a vial. He handed it to Aaron.

Aaron took it and watched the white coils churn. It wasn't labeled. "Whose memory is this?"

"It is one of my own, though you will find I am not the subject."

Dumbledore aimed his wand at the far corner of the room. The walls shifted and separated until a pensieve appeared. Dark indigo light rose from the basin.

Aaron removed the cork, walked to the pensieve, and poured the contents inside. His hands still shook. He slid the ring back on. 

"I should warn you," Dumbledore said, "you will find the truth in those strands, but it won't come without pain."

Aaron held onto his wand and the side of the bowl and watched the memory unravel.

_Is this what I want?_

_Do I want to know who I am?_

Dumbledore watched him. "I hope this makes you understand what I have to do. You deserve that much, despite everything you've kept hidden from me. You will realize that all I have done, I did for the greater good."

"Keep telling yourself that."

Aaron shoved his hair back and submerged his head.

* * *

**March 1972**

The monument at the end of Rue Maréchal Joffre was cast in fading daylight; shades of amber and bronze; gold and crimson. He stepped into the narrow street to avoid a crowd of muggles - _people_ , he reminded himself - and kept a firm grasp on the bottle of wine he'd carried for three blocks.

He never would have attempted an endeavor like this a year ago; walking through the streets of a city without magic _her world_ and pretending that he belonged. It had felt like a betrayal of everything he was the first time he let Abigail take his hand and guide him around Nantes, bringing him into record stores and shops filled with books, and ordering lunch for him from a cart in the park. All of the people and the unfamiliar sounds had made him apprehensive, and he'd spent most of the day with his hand in his coat pocket, ready to draw his wand. 

He was used to all of it now - the sidewalk cafes and electronics stores - car horns and braking buses - and, he realized, he no longer minded it.

He shook his head and smiled.

_What has she done to me?_

He never thought he would take a mistress. He had moved to France with his wife to get some distance from the war and - he hoped - to spend time together and start a life that would make their marriage more than one of convenience. All the last year had done was proven that the union was a partnership born of necessity, and nothing more. There was no love between them.

At least now he knew.

He reached the end of the street and crossed the cobblestones to Rue Tournefort before heading down Rue Maurice Duval.

Abigail would be surprised when he handed her the wine. She'd be more surprised when he told her he'd bought it with Francs he'd gotten from selling off some of his family heirlooms - trinkets and wedding gifts he had always wanted to burn - instead of using spell work to sneak the bottle out of the shop.

He walked the rest of the way home as the streetlamps came on.

It was dark when he entered the courtyard. He didn't realize he wasn't alone.

Druella Black raised her wand, and took control.

The bottle fell out of his hand and shattered on the ground. Red wine spilled over the uneven cobblestones and seeped into the dirt.

_NO_

He tried to reach for his wand. His body didn't respond.

The sensation of euphoria coated his mind as the voice in his head said, _"It's disgraceful to watch you desecrate your marriage and your noble blood with muggle filth."_

_Get out of my head, you old bitch. You know what I can do to you; how much pain I can leave you in._

_"Not in your current state. You should have spent less time developing your torture methods and more time learning how to defend yourself against a well-cast Imperius Curse. Wait until I tell him how easy it was to incapacitate you; one of his favorite soldiers."_

_He won't believe you._

_"He believed me when I told him you've been copulating with a muggle whore."_

The spell-induced euphoria told him that this was all _NO_ fine. And he _STOP_ was happy.

Abigail walked into her kitchen and turned on the light. She took a glass from the cabinet and held it under the faucet. Something she ate wasn't agreeing with her.

Druella stepped out of the shadows and watched Abigail. "She has such a simple home, with her books and paintings and a closet filled with tight dresses. I bet you enjoy them."

_If you touch her-_

"I sat in on one of her lectures yesterday. Have you ever done that? It was quite revealing of her character."

_I swear, Druella, I will beat you within an inch of your life if you-_

"I won't touch her." She walked past him and stood between his motionless body and Abigail's open kitchen window. "You're the one who is going to clean up your mess."

This is all fine. And you are -

_NO_

_FIGHT HER_

_DRAG HER THROUGH YOUR NIGHTMARES_

The boards covering the well in the woods behind his family's estate were rotten, and no one had been around when he'd fallen through and plummeted thirty feet into the cold water below. He'd been four or five - too young to have any control over magic - and no one could hear him scream. Water went down his throat as he struggled in the dark. There was nothing to hold onto. He'd spent hours treading water and fighting to keep his head above the surface before his brother had found him.

He grabbed onto the invasive presence in his mind, and pulled her down the shaft with him - into the remembered sensations of fatigue, choking, and panic.

It wasn't enough. Druella laughed at his attempt and stepped back into the shadows.

_"Call her name."_

_NO_

His mouth opened, "Abigail."

_"Louder."_

_MY GOD NO_

"Abigail," he called.

She set the glass of water on the counter. It took her a second to see him standing in the dark. "Is there ever a time you aren't watching me through my windows?"

Her gentle smile made him sick.

This was all his fault. He had introduced her to his world, and now she would learn of its horrors.

Druella spoke for him. "Come out here for a minute."

_NO ABIGAIL RUN_

She crossed the kitchen and opened her back door.

_"Raise your wand."_

_NO_

But it was already in his hand.

Abigail didn't see Druella standing on the far side of the courtyard. She walked up to him. "If you're trying to teach me how to siphon spilled wine off the-"

She stopped when she saw his clouded eyes. 

He couldn't _NO_ stop himself. He tore his wand across his body _RUN ABIGAIL_ and cast _Crucio_.

Abigail screamed. The pain had come from nowhere. It bent her in half and left her writhing on the ground.

_STOP IT'S OVER I'LL NEVER SEE HER AGAIN JUST STOP HURTING HER_

_"It's far too late for that."_

Abigail screamed his name until she couldn't breathe.

He summoned another nightmare. It wasn't one of his.

Years of using the Cruciatus Curse - and watching people suffer and go insane from it - had taught him something; a trick he'd never shared with anyone. The pain the curse caused could be directed. He could manipulate the spell and focus it on discrete parts of the body, causing the effects to multiply.

The first person he had tried it with had been chained to a chair in front of him, bleeding and sick from too much Veritaserum. He had used an entire vial to try to get the Auror to talk. The man's mind was on the verge of breaking down, and he wasn't getting results. He had to do something else. He raised his wand, cast _Crucio_ , and sent all of the pain into the man's skull. The Auror screamed - he had never heard a human being make such a sound - and thrashed until he was on the floor. He beat his head against the concrete as hard as he could - once - twice - three times - and killed himself to make it stop.

He took hold of Druella's consciousness - the Imperius Curse was a two-way street - and dragged her across the blood-spattered concrete floor in his memory. He forced the man's pain to become her own.

Druella looked at him in horror and screamed.

He fell forward; no longer under her control. And raised his wand.

_Avada Keda -_

_CRACK_

Druella vanished.

Abigail shook on the cobblestone at his feet - on the ground with the shards of glass - and called his name. Her voice was raw from screaming.

He got on his knees and cradled her against his body. Her clothes were stained red.

_It's the wine. It's just the wine._

"This was my fault." He couldn't keep his voice steady. "I should have cast more wards on the courtyard. And I never should have-"

She reached up and touched his face. "We can share the blame, but you _were_ the one holding the damn wand."

"It took me too long to break the curse. When she made me-" He couldn't say it.

Abigail smiled. It was going to be alright. "I saw your eyes. And I saw her. I knew it wasn't you."

Three weeks ago, he had sat in her living room and handed her a book filled with notes in his handwriting - _Defense Against the Dark Arts_ by a woman named Galatea Merrythought. When he explained each of the unforgiveable curses - and the pain witches and wizards were capable of inflicting - she thought she had understood.

None of it was real until she was on the ground.

"Can you stand? I have to get you somewhere safe. We have to-"

He winced and grabbed his arm. It burned.

_NO_

"Are you alright? What else did she do to you?"

"It's not her."

_He knows._

_Get her out of here._

Abigail helped him to the steps.

He sat down, still holding his arm. "I told you if they found out, you would have to run; that you couldn't stay here or go back to the university."

"They might not-"

"We have to assume they know everything - where your office is, the bus routes you take home, and the way you cut through the park on your afternoon walks. You have to leave Nantes."

She shook her head. "That's not what you said. You said _we_. You told me _we_ would have to leave." 

"I was delusional thinking that you would be safe anywhere near me." 

He rolled up his sleeve. The pain made him nauseous.

Abigail had never asked him about the mark on his forearm, and she had never seen it look the way it did now, burning red against his skin.

There was so much he had never told her.

"They can find me, because of this. I told you about the dark wizard I've associated with in the past. If I don't go to him now, he will send someone else here, or he will come himself. I have to get you out of here."

"I'm not going to leave you alone. If these people try to kill you-"

"They won't kill me." He wasn't sure if it was the truth. "But if they come back and you are still here, they will hurt you to punish me. I can't watch you writhe on the ground like that again, Abigail. It will destroy me. I am going to get you out of Nantes, and then you have to run. You can never tell me where you are, or try to contact me. You can't stay in one place for too long; you have to keep moving, like we talked about. Avoid everything familiar, and vanish."

He handed her his wand. "Take this."

 _Life is a storm_ , she thought, wrapping her fingers around the blackthorn.

"I don't know what I will do without you spying on me."

He kissed her, and lied as his breath caught in his throat. "When it's safe, I will find you."

* * *

**June 1991**

A fog of developing recollection distorted the hallway Aaron found himself standing in, making the tile walls and ceiling panels look like they went on forever in both directions. He waited as more details came into focus; light fixtures surrounded by wire cages, scuff marks on the wet _like someone just mopped it_ floor, and the strong smell of disinfectant.

_click click click click click click_

Aaron turned around. A woman walked toward him, wearing a dress, a badge, and heels. She flipped through a set of keys.

Dumbledore followed her.

"I can not promise there is anything left," she told him. Her voice had a strong accent. "We do not usually save records for more than ten years."

"Any documents you manage to find will be most helpful."

Aaron's ghost followed them down the hallway.

"I assume you would like the tapes, too, if I can find them?"

"The tapes?"

"The cassette tapes." She stopped at a locked door and inserted a key into the handle. "We record most everything here."

She pushed the door open.

Aaron followed them inside the office, and recognized the _oh fuck_ hatched windows on the opposite wall.

_"ATTENTION STAFF: Confirm that both the inner and outer doors have closed before moving a patient into the corridor."_

The memory jumped forward. The woman walked out of the closet he'd searched with Eni and set a heavy box on the table in front of Dumbledore.

The label read, _Patient Sessions - L through N, 1972 and 1973._

_no_

Dumbledore had beaten him to the mental hospital. And found his mother's records.

_When is this?_

He had no way of knowing.

"I have to get back to my desk in case another late night visitor decides to make an appearance. Do not go through the other door, and come find me whenever you are finished."

She opened a drawer. "And you'll need this." 

She set a handheld tape player in front of Dumbledore.

When she was gone, Dumbledore reached inside the box, opened a smaller container labeled _Laurent, A._ , and took out the first tape - _Laurent, Abigail, 5 September, 1973_.

He opened the tape player, slid the cassette inside, and pushed PLAY.

At first, the only sound was the whir of the reeling magnetic tape. Then -

_TAP_

_TAP_

_TAP_

Fingers beating in rhythm against the top of a table.

_TAP_

_TAP_

_TAP_

A man's voice asked, "Abigail, can you stop doing that, please?"

_TAP_

_TAP_

_TAP_

"Abigail, stop."

Silence.

"Can you talk to me today?"

_TAP_

_TAP_

_TAP_

"Abigail-"

"The world itself is a bad dream." Aaron walked closer to the table. It was the first time he had heard his mother's voice.

"Tell me what that means."

"It's Plath."

"Plath?"

" _The Bell Jar_."

"I'm afraid I've never read it."

"You should, with your chosen profession and all."

Silence.

"Take me back to my room." She sounded so tired.

"I will, after I ask you some questions."

"I'm not safe in here. I told you I'm not safe in here."

"Abigail, tell me why you attacked the orderly this morning."

"He was going to kill me."

"Nicholas has worked here for years, he was only trying to-"

"Take me back to my room."

"Nicholas was-"

"TAKE ME BACK TO MY ROOM."

"Abigail, calm down."

Muffled sounds Aaron couldn't identify.

"Abigail, stop, don't do that to your eyes."

Aaron felt sick.

A door opened.

"Restrain her, before she hurts herself more."

Abigail screamed.

Aaron backed away from the table and covered his ears. It didn't stop him from hearing her.

He didn't want to listen to the rest. He didn't want to know anymore.

Aaron tried to pull his head out of the pensieve.

He couldn't.

Abigail screamed.

He tried to get out of the room, but the memory no longer extended past the door. He was trapped.

_what the fuck is happening_

He tried to lift his head again, and felt pressure on the back of his neck; hands held him under the surface of the pensieve.

_you mental fuck_

_let go of me_

Dumbledore forced him to stay submerged.

_LET GO OF ME_

_I DON'T WANT TO SEE ANYMORE_

Aaron struggled, but he couldn't feel the rest of his body.

_STOP_

_L_ _ET GO OF ME_

_I DON'T WANT TO SEE ANYMORE_

Dumbledore couldn't hear him.

The memory jumped forward. The next tape was halfway through.

Something was wrong with his mother's voice. "Kill me."

"I can't do that, Abigail."

"Take your pencil and shove it in my head."

_I DON'T WANT TO SEE ANYMORE_

_LET ME GO_

"Kill me."

"Abigail-"

"Kill me. Kill me. Kill me."

_Is this what you wanted me to see? You think I didn't know that my mother was a damn nutter?_

"Abigail-"

"Kill me. Kill me. Kill me."

_LET ME GO_

"Abigail, why did you try to kill your son?"

Aaron stopped struggling.

_what_

_no_

_she never tried to_

Silence.

"Abigail, why did you-"

"TELL ME WHERE HE IS."

"I can't do that, Abigail. Tell me why you tried to kill him."

Aaron backed against the door. His ethereal body shook.

_no_

_it isn't true_

"Abigail-"

"WHERE IS HE."

"I can't-"

"TELL ME WHERE HE IS."

_she was crazy_

"RELEASE MY HANDS."

_she was right to keep me away from her_

_to give me a different name_

_and leave me on my own_

Silence. The tape jumped.

Someone had stopped recording and started again.

"Abigail, are you alright?"

Dumbledore still held the back of his neck. He had stopped fighting him.

He slid down the door and stayed on the floor while the tape played.

"Are you alright?"

Abigail laughed. Her voice was tired again. "I'm fine."

"Would you like some water?"

"No, I'm fine. This is all fine. And I am happy."

_WHAT THE FUCK_

Aaron stood up and leaned over the tape player.

_"The patient had long suffered from textbook paranoid schizophrenia . . ."_

"This is all fine. And I am happy."

_". . . often exhibiting aggression, agitation, disordered thoughts, delusions, self-detachment, and depression . . ."_

_no_

_". . . was frequently found talking to herself, and reported hearing voices."_

"This is all fine. And I am happy."

The same words had been in his mind when he'd been under Juliet's control; the hypnotic euphoria meant to placate the victim into submission.

_my god no_

_she wasn't crazy_

_LET GO OF ME_

_SHE WASN'T FUCKING CRAZY_

His mother had been under the Imperius Curse.

* * *

**June 1973**

The girl who carried the yellow ball to the top of the slide couldn't have been more than six years old. Her mother sat on a bench at the edge of the playground; reading a magazine behind oversized tinted glasses and not paying attention. That was good, the girl decided. She wanted to see if it would happen again.

She set the ball on the metal surface and waited for a boy standing at the bottom to get out of the way. When he moved, she let go.

The ball rolled down the slide, flew off the end, and - for just a second - hovered in the air above a trampled patch of dirt. The girl giggled.

The ball lost its suspension, hit the ground, and bounced. She pushed off from the bar above her head.

When she landed at the bottom, she didn't see the ball. It hadn't rolled into the sandbox like it had the last two times. She dodged her running and laughing peers, and looked for her favorite toy.

A woman sitting on a blanket waved at her. The ball was in her lap.

The girl walked up to her.

"That looks like a fun game," the woman said.

The girl pointed behind her and whispered, "The slide is magic."

Abigail smiled. "No, darling, _you_ are magic."

She handed the ball to the girl. "Don't worry. It will be our secret."

The girl's mother realized she had wandered and called her name across the playground. She took her ball and ran away.

Abigail watched the girl's mother take her hand and lead her down the walking path.

The infant lying on his stomach next to her made excited noises and chewed on a plastic ring. She watched her son.

_Is this how it will start for you? With games on a playground? Will you make your toys do things neither of us understand?_

Aaron dropped the ring and pushed himself up on his hands and knees. He rocked back and forth and looked at Abigail.

She smiled at him and held out her hands. "Allons, tu peux le faire!"

 _In English, too,_ she reminded herself. There was no telling where they would end up next.

"Come on, you can do it, little one."

He drooled and smiled at her.

_If only he could see you._

Aaron crawled into her waiting arms. She picked him up and lifted him over her head until they both laughed.

The afternoon sun must have been brighter than she thought. An hour later, when she folded the blanket and stood to leave, Abigail realized the trees around her seemed out of focus.

No matter. Everything was going to be fine. 

And she was happy.

Abigail carried her son home, and never saw Druella Black watching her across the lawn.

* * *

Abigail stood over the pile of blankets that served as her son's bed and wondered if this was all a dream. She didn't remember waking up. Or grabbing the pillow.

 _"It will be quick,"_ the voice in her head told her, _"he won't feel anything."_

She leaned down.

Aaron moved in his sleep.

_NO_

_THIS ISN'T A DREAM_

_"Do it now, Abigail. It will be worse for you both if he wakes up."_

_NO_

She raised the pillow over Aaron's head.

_my god no_

_it's the curse_

The voice in her head laughed. _"He left you so defenseless. His bastard son and his muggle whore."_

_GET OUT OF MY HEAD_

_"Have you ever wondered why he never looked for you?"_

_STOP_

_"You never meant anything to him."_

_If that's true, then why did you come after me?_

_"Lower the pillow, Abigail."_

_NO_

But she did.

This is all fine. And you are happy.

She covered Aaron's face.

_NO_

_AARON_

Druella's laughter filled her head. _"You weak muggle whore."_

_he can't breathe_

_get her out of your head NOW_

_Defense Against the Dark Arts_ was tucked between her makeshift bed and the wall in the corner beneath the window. The margins of the chapters detailing the use and effects of the Imperius Curse were covered with notes in faded ink.

_He didn't leave me unarmed. And I am no muggle._

Abigail buried the euphoria and reached into Druella's mind.

The old witch fell forward into her desk – astonished.

Abigail threw the pillow across the room as her opaque vision cleared. Aaron opened his eyes and screamed, gasping for air.

She picked him up and held him against her chest. "Shhhhhh. Shhhhhh."

Tears ran down her face as she rocked him.

When her body stopped shaking, she grabbed the duffel bag she had never unpacked. She shoved the book he'd given her and Aaron's blanket inside.

The wand was in the side pouch with _The Count of Monte Cristo_. She pulled it out, held it tight, and ran out into the hallway.

Druella disapparated from London and appeared _CRACK_ on the sidewalk in front of the apartment building where Abigail had spent the last three weeks. Something had gone wrong. In the time it had taken her to recover from the shock that the _mudblood is what she is_ whore could use magic, and use it to bore into her head, Druella had lost control of Abigail's motor functions, and she could no longer see through her eyes. She should have cast a higher level of the curse when she was in the park, but it was hard to maintain such control at a distance, and Druella didn't want to be there when she made Abigail kill her child and take her own life. It was best to do such things from the comfort of her own home. 

She'd taken the same approach with Andromeda.

Druella used _Alohomora_ to let herself in the building. Fragments of Abigail's thoughts and emotions were all she had left. It wasn't enough to find her.

But if she pushed hard enough, she could project her own thoughts into the young woman's head.

Abigail was halfway to the train station when she heard, _"Where did you go, Abigail?"_

_NO_

_"Did you think it would be that easy to get rid of me?"_

Abigail pounded on the window of an out-of-service cab. She begged the startled man to give her a ride, waving a ten pound note. He saw Aaron's red face and unlocked the back door.

Abigail held Aaron and watched the city lights blur.

_"You and I both know he isn't safe in your arms."_

Druella took control of Abigail again two days later.

The third time she tried to kill her son - in a hotel room in Glasgow - Abigail surrendered him, and took a bus to Nantes, France.

* * *

**June 1991**

Dumbledore ejected the tape.

Aaron waited for the memory to dissolve, but the room surrounding him maintained its contrast. And he could still feel the pressure on the back of his neck. This wasn't over.

He circled the table and leaned over the box as Dumbledore took out the last cassette - _Laurent, Abigail, 6 November, 1973._

His mother would be dead by the next morning.

Dumbledore pressed PLAY.

". . . tell . . . why . . ."

Static.

". . . make . . ."

Something was wrong with the tape. The voices were distorted.

". . . how . . . end . . ."

". . . save this?"

". . . save all of them."

A folder stuck out from beneath the box. Aaron hadn't noticed it before; he'd been too focused on the recordings. The same picture of his mother that was still tucked inside his copy of _1984_ was stapled to the cover. He looked down at her sad expression as static filled the room.

_You weren't mental. Everyone was wrong._

_I was wrong._

". . . want to tell him . . ." It was her voice; stretched and warped.

_I'm so sorry._

_You didn't deserve any of this._

_I'm going to -_

"Aaron."

He looked at the tape player.

"I hope you never hear this. After all, my intention was to make us both disappear."

Static.

"I have no way of knowing whether or not you developed the abilities I have; if anyone helped you when you did, or if you were as lost as I was when I found out I could do things no one else could. If you never did, that was for the best, and you should stop this tape and move on with your life. If that's not the case, I am sorry, my darling. It seems magic intended to fuck with us both from the start."

Static.

_No. It's not static. It's interference._

". . . and I . . ."

". . . don't . . ."

_Shit, no, come on._

"They want us both dead, Aaron, and I can't fight this curse any longer. I am alone, and I can't get Druella Black out of my head."

_Black?_

_Why did the Black family want to kill us?_

Four bodies hanging in the Wizengamot dungeon. Seventy-eight dead on the fourteenth of February.

_"Nothing has thrilled us more than watching as - one by one - people with marred blood have been systematically removed from our world."_

Almost three-hundred muggle-borns killed since April of 1985.

_"Any mudblood who insists on walking among us in protest - on standing in OUR buildings and on OUR streets and speaking out against OUR world - will be dragged through the same places by their necks."_

_"What's wrong mudblood? Scared of magic?"_

_Because killing us is all they've ever wanted._

Aaron tried to lift his head; to get out of the pensieve.

_IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED ME TO SEE YOU MANIPULATIVE FUCK? WAS THIS YOUR GREATER GOOD?_

He walked through the table and screamed words no one could hear at Dumbledore's ghost. "Fuck you. Fuck you and this whole damn world. My mother died because of this shit. Because people like you haven't done a damn thing to-"

The interference broke and the tape jumped forward.

"Forgive me, Aaron," his mother's voice shook, "I destroyed our lives."

_It wasn't you. It was the bigots that are still killing people._

_It wasn't -_

He would spend the rest of his life trying to pretend the next words she said didn't change anything; that they weren't the cause of the events that followed.

He knew better.

"I fell in love with Rodolphus Lestrange, and I destroyed our lives."


	127. Vanishing Act, Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Similar to Part 1, this chapter includes detailed descriptions of events and topics that may be triggering and difficult to read, including self-harm/suicide and graphic violence. As always, proceed with caution and thanks for making it this far.

**June 1973**

It was after midnight - and raining hard - when the bus from Paris arrived in Nantes. A group of tired passengers disembarked and stood near the curb, waiting for the driver to open the luggage compartments. Abigail shouldered her way through the scattered group of people, walked across the terminal, and left the station.

Rainwater flooded the cobblestone sidewalks and collected in the gutters. She walked through the downpour and headed for Rue de Strasbourg, clutching Rodolphus Lestrange's wand.

The voice in her head laughed.

_"Is that why you came back? Do you think he will save you?"_

Abigail's wet hair stuck to her forehead. Her clothes were soaked through before she passed Quai Ceineray.

_"He doesn't want you."_

_stop_

Abigail looked over her shoulder and crossed the street, darting in front of a slow-moving car.

_"He never even tried to find you."_

Abigail walked until she saw a familiar gate, and pushed it open.

The courtyard was deserted, and overgrown. Planter boxes filled with dead vegetation spilled over the uneven pavers and the trampled ground.

Abigail stepped over puddles and unrestrained foliage and peered inside what used to be her kitchen window.

The walls that had been covered with framed photographs she had taken before her father died, and paintings she had bought off university students at the weekend markets, had been stripped bare and painted white. Her bookcases had been emptied, disassembled, and left leaning against the far living room wall.

_no part of who I am remains intact_

Abigail wiped rainwater out of her eyes and faced the building across the courtyard; the house she was never supposed to see.

She walked to the back door, recited the unlocking charm as she waved the wand, and let herself inside.

The house _no_ had been abandoned.

_no you have to be here_

Abigail inhaled stagnant air and left a trail of footprints in the dust covering the floors.

There was no furniture; no abandoned dishes in the cabinets; no sign that anyone had lived there.

_where did you go_

_you were supposed to find me_

_you told me you would find me_

_"Did you think anything he told you was the truth?"_

_GET OUT OF MY HEAD_

_"Did you think he loved you? That he would love your bastard son?"_

"Rodolphus!"

Her voice echoed off the empty walls.

_WHERE ARE YOU_

_I CAN'T GET HER OUT OF MY HEAD_

_"No, you can't."_

"Rodolphus!"

_"That is quite enough."_

Druella shoved herself inside Abigail's mind.

Abigail screamed and fell backwards against the wall. She raised the wand.

_"There's no spell that can save you."_

Abigail hadn't slept in three days, or managed to keep down anything she ate. It didn't take much for Druella to increase her level of control.

Abigail's vision _oh mon dieu non_ went opaque. She looked down the dark hallway through an altered perception she had last experienced in Glasgow, when she tried to drown Aaron in a bathtub.

_"Where did you leave him?"_

_va te faire foutre_

_"Stand up."_

Abigail did.

_"Take the staircase to the third floor."_

Abigail couldn't stop herself. She walked up the stairs.

_you said you would find me_

She passed the second floor and kept going.

_I should have known better_

_and you should have told me the truth_

_about you_

_and your whole damn world_

_what a nightmare it is_

Abigail stopped at the top of the staircase and stood in the dark.

_"Break the wand in half. And leave it on the floor."_

The blackthorn snapped. The pieces fell out of her hand.

_"Walk to the end of the hallway."_

Abigail walked toward the light coming from the city. Water dripped off her clothes and left puddles on the hardwood.

_"Open the window."_

Abigail unhooked the latch and cranked the window open. She looked down at the courtyard - and thought of broken bottles.

_what was it you told me_

_if I ever wanted to feel less alone in all of this - you would be here_

_well here I am_

_alone_

She hadn't noticed that she had stepped up onto the window sill and grabbed the frame.

_"Tell me where your son is, Abigail. I think I have made it clear what will happen if you don't."_

Abigail smiled - if only in her mind.

She didn't know. She had no idea where Aaron was.

_he's safe_

_"WHERE IS HE."_

_whatever you do to me_

_however broken you leave me_

_you will never hurt my son_

Druella told Abigail to jump.

She leaped from the window and plummeted toward the courtyard.

The impact broke both of her legs.

The man who found her - screaming and shattered - telling him to stay away from her - that she tried to kill her son - looked up at the open window, and ran to find help.

It took Abigail five months to get enough control of her own body to tear her wrists open at Hopital Psychiatrique Esprit Brise, and silence the voice in her head.

* * *

**June 1991**

_NO_

_That means I'm -_

The spent memory collapsed around Aaron and left him trapped in darkness - until Dumbledore let go of his neck.

Aaron tore his head out of the pensieve. "You sick fuck. You forced me to listen to her scream while I-"

"If I had not intervened, you never would have let yourself hear the rest."

It was the truth, Aaron realized.

He wiped memory residue off his face and held onto the side of the bowl, trying to keep himself upright as reality stabilized. He didn't know what he had been breathing while he was submerged, but it hadn't been fresh air.

Dumbledore picked up the unlabeled vial and collected the floating strands of recollection. "I am sorry about your mother. She was the victim of a most unfortunate set of circumstances."

"That's a convenient way of saying she was driven insane and murdered by a blood purist."

Dumbledore corked the vial and set it next to the pensieve. "The same methods were often used by the Death Eaters who tortured Frank and Alice Longbottom until they could no longer recognize each other, or their infant son; by the man who gave you more than his facial features."

_no_

_Alice_

It had taken two healers to pull her off of him - she had screamed and wrapped her fingers around his neck - and now he knew why.

Alice Longbottom had always known exactly who he was; a replication of the face she saw in her nightmares.

Dumbledore leaned across the pensieve and shoved his wand into Aaron's throat. "When did the rest of them find you?"

"No one found me."

"It must have presented you with quite the opportunity - the frustrated boy who couldn't use magic. Did you finally feel less incompetent when you realized your limited magical abilities responded better to the dark arts?"

 _Fuck you._ "I'm not a Death Eater."

"The muggle-born body count increased significantly after Alastor decided you were worth his time, and made the mistake of thinking someone with your background and lack of ability could ever be an Auror. When he told you how the trace worked, I imagine it made everything less complicated."

"Are you that delusional that you've convinced yourself I am working with the killers I've spent the last two years of my life hunting down?"

"You have always-"

Aaron grabbed Dumbledore's wand and moved it away from his neck. "I'm sure you had the same look on your face - and the same sense of self-righteousness in your mind - when you executed Carrow." 

The first thing Alastor Moody saw when he immersed his head in the pensieve in 1994 was Aaron's body hitting the far wall of Dumbledore's office.

The impact forced the air out of Aaron's lungs. He grabbed onto the edge of a bookcase - stayed on his feet - and raised his wand. The flash shield he cast destroyed _BANG_ the red blast Dumbledore fired at his head.

The next attack was a focused stream of energy. Aaron tore his wand in a tight circle and called forth an amplified impediment spell designed to counter concentrated assaults. The resulting blue arcs collided with Dumbledore's onslaught and seared the air.

The force shoved Aaron back against the wall. He braced himself against the stones and mortar, and used both hands to keep his wand stable, repeating the incantation _Acuta Impedire_ on loop in his mind while his enchantment bore into Dumbledore's.

Fawkes screeched and took to the air - escaping the fray.

Aaron pushed. Dumbledore staggered and grabbed his desk.

Aaron carved a horizontal line in the air with his torrent, forced the energy coming from his wand to magnify, and broke the deadlock. Dumbledore fell backwards. Aaron pulled off the ring _CRACK_ and jumped across the room. He grabbed Dumbledore by the shoulder as a green light cast from the old man’s wand ignited the room -

\- and pulled him into the darkness of the abandoned train station.

Aaron shoved Dumbledore forward and hit him with a blast that ripped a hole in his robe, burned his arm, and knocked him onto the tracks. Aaron jumped down and stood over Dumbledore. The raw current dancing off the end of his wand ignited the encased tunnel. "Is this better? Do you feel more comfortable killing me somewhere you already left a body?"

Dumbledore raised his blistered arm and hit Aaron in the chest with summoned fire.

Aaron hit the tracks as the flames burned through his shirt and seared the skin covering his upper left ribs. He inhaled hard, rolled against the underside of the platform, and fired off a rapid _BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG_ blitz of disorientation spells _BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG_ to keep Dumbledore away from him.

Aaron reached up and pulled himself onto the platform.

Silence followed his dissipating onslaught.

He rotated his wand in fast circles and sent his incorporeal patronus into the darkness ahead of him, looking for Dumbledore.

_CRACK_

Aaron summoned Dumbledore's layers - found him in his brother's inn - and pulled him back to the train platform. Dumbledore staggered forward and landed hard on concrete that was still stained with Carrow's blood.

Aaron grabbed him, yanked him to his feet, and summoned a deafening maelstrom of locations that rendered the world around them an unstable plane of shifting realities. The lurching, superimposed layers bled through each other in a vicious cycle until the only thing keeping space from disintegrating around them was Aaron. He manipulated the churning fragments of three dimensions, choked down bile, and whispered in Dumbledore's ear. "You can't run. So, either kill me, or stop trying to."

When Dumbledore threw up and collapsed against him - drooling and sick - Aaron stabilized the first layer he saw before he lost control, and pulled them out of his chaos.

The sun rose over Edinburgh. He'd taken them back to the roof.

Dumbledore - breathing hard and shaking against the gravel - disapparated.

Aaron followed him - 

\- to the graveyard in Godric's Hollow.

Aaron wiped sweat off his forehead, and faced Dumbledore.

_Enough. End it._

Aaron summoned the one-way room inside The Department of Magical Law Enforcement - thought better of it - and forced Dumbledore's cell in Azkaban to merge with the low-hanging tree branches and the statue of death.

His hands shook. He'd have to -

Dumbledore, still bent over on the ground, raised his hands - and destroyed the gate behind Aaron.

He turned the deformed remains into projectiles - and impaled Aaron's body. Iron bars tore through Aaron's shoulder - his left leg - and into his back, all the way through his abdomen.

He never saw them coming.

The sound Aaron made wasn't human.

He staggered and fell forward - screaming.

Dumbledore used another turn of his wrist to tear Aaron's wand out of his shaking hand.

Aaron struggled on the ground, trying to pull air into his lungs. He reached for the corroded iron bar projecting from his stomach. Blood ran down his fingers.

Dumbledore walked toward him - holding his wand. He tossed it in front of him and placed it in a suspension charm just outside of Aaron's reach.

When Aaron looked up, he cast _Confringo_.

Aaron's wand exploded. Shards of ebony - and the split heartstring core - pulled themselves into Dumbledore's waiting palm.

Aaron choked and lost the edges of his vision, collapsing on ground saturated with his blood.

Dumbledore stood over him, clutching the remains of his wand.

He yanked Aaron to his knees. "I will be sure to tell Alastor-"

_CRACK_

The air -

_CRACK_

\- on the far side of the graveyard -

_CRACK_

\- expanded and contracted, as three dark figures appeared.

Laughter and excited shouts interrupted Aaron's cries of agony.

Blasts of red light _BANG BANG BANG_ came at Dumbledore's head. He released Aaron and pulled a shield around his body.

The incoming spells exploded on contact, but more came.

Adesh Selwyn and Theshan Nott rushed Dumbledore.

Dumbledore looked at Aaron - bleeding and gasping on the ground - clutching the iron that was lodged between his bones. "You called them."

Aaron choked.

"You summoned them here."

Blood ran from Aaron's mouth. "No, I-"

Dumbledore's shield wavered against the assault.

"See if the people you chose will save you."

"NO!"

Dumbledore dropped his shield, and disapparated.

Barty Crouch Junior - trailing the others - disapparated and appeared in front of Aaron. He smiled and leaned down. "I told you, you were already ours."

Crouch kicked his ribs. "That's for Black."

Aaron screamed. Crouch kicked him again. "That's for Gaunt."

The pain made Aaron's vision fade in and out.

Again. "For Bulstrode."

Crouch grabbed the bar protruding from his shoulder, and yanked it out. "And Carrow."

Aaron didn't recognize the sounds coming from his throat - he wavered at the edge of consciousness.

"Stop," a familiar voice said, "he's had enough."

Crouch pulled Aaron to a sitting position.

Cassio stood over him.

Aaron _the fuck is he_ coughed up _doing here and why is he_ blood.

Cassio smiled. "You and me are going to have all kinds of fun."

He raised his wand.

Everything went dark.


	128. You Just Don't Know What You Was Missin' Last Night

**June 1991**

A low murmur of disquiet spread through The Great Hall as the first servings of breakfast appeared; sporadic, meagre, and deficient in more than one way. Percy reached for the thin cuts of ham in front of him, realized they weren't cooked through, and dropped the piece he had stuck with his fork back on the platter.

Oliver Wood took an egg out of the basket that had materialized between them and cracked it open. Raw yolk and whites mixed together on his plate. He looked at Percy. "Did I miss the bit where we're supposed to teach ourselves cooking charms on the fly today?"

Percy turned around and scanned the room. The food arriving at the Hufflepuff table didn't look any more edible than what they had been served, and Ravenclaw and Slytherin were still waiting for basic things like plates and silverware.

Trelawney and Sinistra - the only faculty members who had shown up so far - stood behind their chairs, talking and oblivious to what was happening, even as the pitch of hungry voices amplified.

Percy set his fork on his empty plate and left the Gryffindor table. He walked toward the front of the hall, saw Eni heading for the Ravenclaw table, and decided she was a better option than the distracted professors. He cut across the room and tapped her on the shoulder. "What's going on down there?"

Eni had been awake long enough to pull on some clothes and grab her satchel, but that was about it. "Excuse me?"

"In the kitchen," Percy said.

A Second Year sitting near them asked his friend if whatever was on his plate was supposed to be raw.

Eni reached down and grabbed the boy's plate out of his hands. She prodded the undercooked sausage. "Chikusho."

"What?" Percy asked.

"Shit," Eni said.

She handed the plate back to its confused owner. "Don't eat that."

Eni looked at the Gryffindor table. It was still early. She didn't see Aaron.

"I'll get this sorted. Tell Trelawny and Sinistra, make an announcement, and get this food off the tables before someone gets sick."

"I don't think I should-"

"Just do it, Percy."

She left him standing in the aisle and walked out of the hall.

Nothing she heard on her way down to the kitchen sounded good.

Eni stopped in the entryway, and swore again.

House elves crowded the preparation areas; arguing, scurrying past her with stacks of dishes, and tripping over themselves to get into the adjacent room.

_Shit, well, with Lara in hiding, it was only a matter of time until the whole damn system collapsed._

Eni stopped a house elf who was talking to herself and frantically trying to collect grains of rice that covered the floor.

"What the hell is going on? You lot know how to serve a damn meal."

The creature mumbled something about trying to get the ovens hot enough and come up with breakfast from what was left.

"What do you mean 'from what's left'?"

The timid elf took her hand, and led her to the pantry.

Eni saw the mess Aaron had seen three hours earlier. She grabbed her apron off the hook on the wall, and started giving orders.

* * *

Charlie had heard the commotion coming from The Great Hall while he was still on the moving stairs. He walked through the oak doors and surveyed the chaos. Percy and a few other students from his year collected platters and stacked baskets; Trelawney shouted as she paced in front of the faculty table, telling everyone not to eat the food; and Sinistra and Sprout helped a Hufflepuff First Year who was throwing up in the middle of an aisle.

Charlie walked up behind the twins and grabbed them by their robes. "What did you do now?"

Fred looked up at him. "For once, nothing."

"Well," George said, "we had planned on releasing a dragon's lair worth of exploding luminous balloons to stir things up a bit this morning, but the food poisoning did that for us."

Madam Pomfrey walked into the hall with her healer kit and went right for a Gryffindor girl who was leaning against the wall in the corner, looking like she had tempted fate and taken a bite of something.

Charlie let go of his brothers.

Eni walked up to him, still wearing her apron. "Where's Aaron?"

"He's not in the kitchen?"

Eni wiped sweat off her forehead and gestured at the rest of the room. "Was that not obvious?"

"I thought maybe he ended up spending the night down there. He went to check on the inventory and leave meal plans for the house elves after you left last night."

Eni shook her head. "He never would have let the house elves sleep until five if he saw the state of the pantry. You didn't see him this morning?"

"No," Charlie said, "his bed hadn't been slept in."

"Now you've got me worried."

Charlie looked at Fred. "Where's the map?"

Fred took it out of his robe, solemnly swore that he was up to no good, and handed it to Charlie.

Aaron wasn't on it.

Charlie folded the map and decided to hang onto it. "I'm sure he's fine, Eni. He's probably with Moody. It wouldn't be the first time the old arsehole summoned him in the middle of the night."

"I don't know. He made it sound like his career as an Auror would be over before it started if he didn't take and pass our exams with outstanding marks."

Charlie looked at the clock above the oak doors as platters of scrambled eggs and cooked bacon appeared on the tables. "Well, he's got forty minutes."

When Binns closed his classroom door - and Aaron still wasn't there - Charlie got worried. When Aaron missed lunch - and the Defense Against the Dark Arts N.E.W.T. - Charlie grabbed his broom, and went to find Hagrid.

* * *

The floor of the arrivals lobby was still covered with debris; with remains; fragmented pieces of shattered marble and black tiles; clothes people had torn off their bodies when the tear gas saturated the fabric and burned their skin; and smeared streaks of dried blood. For the second time in less than five months, the atrium was a crime scene - a _murder_ scene - and Alastor Moody intended to treat it as such.

He stood in front of the only surviving part of the information desk and leaned over the notes, diagrams, and the timeline he had spent the last twenty-four hours constructing from the evidence surrounding him and his own memories, re-creating the chaotic sequence of events that had resulted in three deaths. He had marked - and cordoned off - the two areas where Aaron _I should have given him more Draught of Peace before he left_ had found bodies.

The third victim had died somewhere between the lobby and his destination, suffocating alone in the maelstrom of the Floo Network. His last words - choked from his blistered throat and failing lungs - had engulfed him in green flames. His oxygen deprived body had fallen out of the fireplace by the reception desk at St. Mungo's with a sickening thud the witnesses Moody had spoken with had not enjoyed recounting.

Moody heard the _click click click_ of heels on marble and looked back down the main thoroughfare, past the remains of columns and archways held together with enchantments. Madam Bones stood by the wreckage of the astronomical clock, staring at the deformed hand that clung to the sprockets.

Moody walked up to her.

Bones didn't turn around. "Minister Fudge would like to know when he can send in the custodial teams to, and I quote, restore his lobby to working order."

"Did you tell him to pucker up and kiss a dementor?"

Bones smiled. "Not in so many words."

Moody wondered how long the sounds of people choking on the poisoned air surrounding them would wake him up in the middle of the night. "We should have known about the tear gas."

"I'm afraid this fortress - this citadel where countless witches and wizards have tread - will forever be the stalwart keeper of past wrongs, secrets, and defenses that we, as Aurors, are not always made aware of. We will forever operate on the fringes, and The Minister for Magic's office will always leave us in the dark whenever doing so is possible."

"That's a shit excuse, and you know it."

"And yet it holds true."

Neither of them spoke for a moment, then Bones asked, "How is Juliet?"

"She looked better when I checked on her yesterday morning."

"Did she inhale that much of the gas?"

"She managed to scorch her throat enough to require a healer, but that isn't why she was so bad off. The woman who died in Fudge's office - the one who held a knife to Juliet's throat - was a childhood friend of her sister. She attended Hogwarts when Juliet was there."

"Dear, sacred Merlin. And she-"

"I told her to take as much time as she needs."

An owl flew into the lobby and landed on top a clock gear in front of Moody. He reached down and took the letter off its leg.

_Alastor,_

_I was under the impression that we had an agreement. Whenever you take Aaron Stone out of classes for Ministry work, you must notify me so I can make arrangements. I don't have to tell you how important final examinations are for students at his level of study, so the fact that you allowed him to miss both of his N.E.W.T.s today has left me quite disgruntled. I cannot expect my frustrated colleagues to change their schedules and offer another chance to a student who did not so much as leave a note of apology or explanation. I realize the work you do is important - but Mister Stone remains a STUDENT of this institution until the end of the week, and his final marks will, I believe, determine whether or not he can become an Auror at all._

_See that Aaron returns to Hogwarts IMMEDIATELY. I will speak with Professor Binns and Professor Rakepick and do what I can._

Moody crumbled the letter and swore. He ignored the look Bones gave him, pulled the transfer parchment out of his coat, and pressed it against the closest wall.

_What are you doing? I don't know where the hell you are, but you better have a DAMN good reason for missing your exams, or you and I are going to exchange a series of strong fucking words in a concrete room._

_Get your ungraduated arse back to Hogwarts NOW, Aaron._


	129. While the Walls Come Tumbling Down

**25 June, 1991**

_Bill,_

_I need help. Aaron is missing. I don't know what to do._

_I haven't seen him since Sunday night. We were up late talking in the common room after all the shit that happened at The Ministry. He left around three-thirty to check on the kitchen. He said he had to make sure the bloody house elves hadn't made a mess of things while he was at the protest. I should have gone down there with him, but I didn't. I went to bed. And he never came back._

_I know. Aaron tends to disappear. I told myself the same thing last night when no one in town had seen him; he's off somewhere doing Auror shit. He'll apparate into the middle of the damn hall like he always does and Alastor Moody will convince the professors to let him make up our final exams._

_When that didn't happen this morning, I sent Moody an owl. I just got a reply. Aaron isn't with him. Aaron isn't at The Ministry. He hasn't heard from Aaron since Sunday. Moody has been sending him messages all day and Aaron hasn't responded. I am trying not to lose my shit._

_Moody asked me if I think Aaron ran; if all the Auror shit finally got to him. Aaron hasn't told me much about what he's been involved with since he started working with Moody, but the things he has told me aren't good, and there's been enough nights where he has come back here covered in blood that isn't his that it hasn't been hard for me to guess he's been exposed to some horrible_ _things. Even so, he has never been out of sorts to the point of bailing on being an Auror. And you and I both know Aaron would never run away from anything._

_The whole damn school is on alert now. I've got the twins watching the common room and the dormitory in case he comes back, and I've got the map._

_Fuck. Are you even in London right now? If you're not still in Cairo or Aswan or wherever it is you go, can you ask around Diagon Alley? And find out if anyone you know has seen him?_

_Tonks and I are about to head out and look for him. I don't know what else to do._

_What else can I fucking do, Bill? He didn't run. He's in trouble._

_Charlie_

* * *

_Hagrid,_

_Still no sign of Aaron. I've got the whole damn town keeping an eye out for him._

_Are you sure he didn't just go off on his own for a bit? He wouldn't be the first Hogwarts student to decide enough was enough._

_I'm going to close up early tonight, if you want to finish searching the forest. I can meet you at sundown._

_Aleus_

**26 June, 1991**

_Eni,_

_I'm still at Oliver's. Aaron hasn't turned up here, or at mum's flat._

_Oliver wants to know where we can look - if you know of any places Aaron might have gone that you lot haven't checked yet - and if there's anyone we can talk to who might know where Aaron is. Oliver knows a lot of people here in London. We will get the word out, and I'm going back to check your bakery again tonight and make sure he hasn't been there._

_There's something else. I debated waiting until you were back with me to tell you, but I think it's best if you know now before you hear it from someone else. Lara is dead. She was killed in Fudge's office during the uprising. The Ministry is claiming she threatened and attacked Fudge, and died in a skirmish with one of the Aurors. Aleus says Adam is a wreck. He hasn't told Lara's family, or her friends. Most of them are muggles, and Adam's never met them. I know you and Lara had your differences, but I imagine this news still hurts. I am sorry, Eni. I wish things weren't falling to such pieces._

_Please don't worry yourself sick. We are going to find Aaron. He's too resilient to stay missing long._

_XOXO Lee_

* * *

_Tonks,_

_What time are you and Charlie heading out tonight? I want to come with you. I know a place we can look, if you're up for a trip to Glasgow. There's a house there Aaron took me to once. He said he lived there for a bit before Hogwarts. I know it's not much, but, like you said, if there's a chance, we have to try, right? So, let's try._

_Just let me know when to be in the owlery with my broom._

_Maddison._

* * *

_Charlie,_

_Close off the kitchen. I don't want anyone going near that damn pantry. Treat it like a crime scene, and set wards. If the student body and the faculty have to walk to Hogsmeade three times a day to eat their meals for the rest of the week, so be it. Aaron was headed for the kitchen the last time you saw him - and you said the pantry looks like someone released an Obscurus who didn't much care for the décor. It's not a coincidence._

_I can't get there until sunrise - I've got The Ministry breathing down my neck and I've got someone chained to a wall in front of me for refusing to cooperate with a different investigation. My Aurors are still recovering from the effects of the tear gas and trying to get our department functioning before someone calls in another dead muggle-born. Either Aaron ran, he saw something and decided to take things into his own hands, or he was attacked on school grounds. We will find out, and we will find him._

_I will need to talk to the girl who found the kitchen in shambles, and I'll have more questions for you. It seems you know him best, and you were the last person to see him._

_If you see Albus Dumbledore, make sure he doesn't leave. I've got questions for him, too._

_Moody_

**27 June, 1991**

The stone tablets stacked in the far corner of the room emitted a faint light, casting shadows on the collection of artifacts crowding the three-hundred square foot space; amulets hanging off statues of Osiris, Canopic jars made of limestone, boxes full of scrolls, and a battered sarcophagus covered with depictions of Ra. The last one had been laid across the sofa. Charlie stood by a crate covered with ancient symbols and tried not to touch anything. Most of the objects piled in his brother's flat were still very much cursed.

Bill stepped around a pyramidion and handed Charlie a cup of tea. "No one I've spoken to has seen him - or heard anything worth a damn. And he hasn't touched his account."

"His account?"

"Aaron has an account with Gringotts. I nicked the records this morning. He gets regular deposits from Hogwarts for the work he does. But he hasn't made a withdrawal since August, and he didn't take out much more than what he would have needed to buy a few textbooks. If he did run, he wasn't planning on using his savings to get by."

Charlie took a drink. He realized he hadn't had anything to eat since last night.

"Did Moody find anything?"

"If he did, he didn't tell me."

"What happened?"

"He questioned me in the Potions classroom before breakfast, spent three hours in the kitchen, boxed up all of Aaron's things, and dragged Eni out of The Great Hall at lunch. She was in tears when she walked into our Transfiguration N.E.W.T. Moody told her she should have kept the house elves from cleaning up the disaster that was the pantry - not that they got very far. It's not her fault. None of us knew it had the potential to be a damn crime scene. She's been bad off enough with Aaron missing. It's a wonder any of us can even sit through a damn exam right now."

Bill leaned against the crate next to his brother. "Have you told mum and dad?"

Charlie shook his head and set the tea down on the crate. "I didn't want to upset mum."

"I think we're past the point of managing not to do that."

"She'll be a mess. She was already worried something like this was going to happen to him."

"This isn't like what happened to Gideon and-"

"I want to believe that - I do - it's the only thing keeping me from taking my broom and flying until I get high enough to run out of oxygen. This is killing me, Bill. I'm not eating, I'm sure as fuck not sleeping, and all I can think is that he is out there - alone - and I can't do a goddamn thing to find him."

Bill reached for his shoulder. Charlie shrugged off his hand. "I don't know what happened to Gideon and Fabian, but I know they were targeted. Nothing has changed since the war. Muggle-borns have been getting their throats cut open since we were kids, and Aaron has been hunting the people holding the knives. They know that. One of them stabbed him last year. He told me he _killed_ Samson Black, Bill. I think Aaron - and what he can do - are how the Aurors have been finding some of these bastards. And I think they are the reason Aaron's missing."

Charlie picked up the mug and finished the tea. "I don't know how they attacked him in the damn kitchen, if that's even what happened. But he's not here. And he didn't run. Wherever he is, he can't apparate himself out. So, tell me what that means. Wards don't stop him. Distance doesn't seem to be much of a problem. I've seen him apparate a goddamn metal cage across a field into the path of a charging chimaera. He does things with apparition that I didn't know were possible. This is bad, Bill. This is fucking bad. Someone found a way to get to him - and shut him down."


	130. The Second Hand Unwinds

**June 1991**

The tunnel in front of Alastor Moody curved through thirty meters of darkness before it terminated into a wall of solid concrete. He amplified the light on the end of his wand and studied the clustered patterns of fractures and black stains that marred the surface of the barrier; scorch marks from spells cast in rapid succession; proof that there had been a confrontation. The impact damage was recent, and the list of people who could access the abandoned Underground station was short.

One of them had been missing for ninety-two hours.

Moody ran his fingers over the fissured and discolored concrete. It was a lot more than he'd found in the pantry.

The expanded room _had_ been left in ruins - with its contents ransacked and overturned - but there hadn't been any definitive evidence of a struggle. The only thing Moody had found that was worth a damn was a partial shoe print in the flour spilled to the left of the doorway. The size of the outlines matched a different pair of trainers he had later dug out of Aaron's trunk.

Aaron had made it to the kitchen, but he never made it back to his dormitory. If he wasn't attacked at Hogwarts and taken from the school against his will, he must have left - must have jumped - because he saw something in his layers.

Moody inhaled stale air and looked back at the train platform.

_So, why did he end up down here?_

_And, if he cast these spells, who was he aiming at?_

Again, the list was short. Aaron had spent months watching the locations he pulled off the killers.

And places associated with Albus Dumbledore.

Minerva had spoken with Dumbledore last night, but he hadn't been at Hogwarts that morning. Moody had broken the wards on his office and spent two hours turning the room over, looking through disorganized stacks of parchments and letters left scattered across the desk; a closet full of restricted books; and cabinets cluttered with vials and jars. Two books had been left open - and face down - on the floor by the bookcase, and the rug by the far wall had been shoved into the corner.

He planned on making another trip to Hogwarts as soon as Dumbledore returned.

Moody walked back to the platform. Whatever happened to Aaron, it hadn't ended in the damn station.

_CRACK_

Moody appeared in his living room. He walked into the kitchen, took two glasses out of the cabinet by the sink, and filled them both with Scotch.

He couldn't do this alone anymore.

Moody pulled the transfer parchment out of his back pocket and went to his desk. He grabbed a quill and wrote,

_I know I told you to take as much time as you needed, but the situation has changed. Aaron is missing and I can't afford to have you on the damn sidelines. Meet me at my flat NOW. It seems we are going to keep getting fucked from all sides._

Moody took a drink and waited for Juliet.

Two hours - and three glasses of Scotch - later, Moody sat at his kitchen table and looked through a worn copy of _Nineteen Eighty-Four_. He had taken out the photographs he'd found tucked between the pages and set them to the side, with a now organized stack of letters he'd spent the afternoon reading through.

_Come on, kid. Give me something I can use to find you._

His eyes went to the photograph someone had taken of Aaron on a school yard swing.

_He was so young. I never should have involved him in any of this._

_It's my fault._

_"_ _When I was in the catacombs chasing Selwyn, there was someone else. He knew who I was and he knew what I could do."_

_I made him a target._

Moody looked at his pocket watch. There was still no response from Juliet.

He stood up and pushed in his chair. If Juliet was still recovering from what happened at The Ministry, she might have taken off her bracelet and decided to ignore any shit he sent her way for a few more days.

Moody set his empty glass on the counter and looked at the untouched one he'd poured for her.

_Bollocks. Something happened._

_CRACK_

Moody appeared in the hallway outside Juliet's flat.

He knocked twice.

When she didn't answer, she broke the ward on her front door.

The _FUCK_ smell hit him before he ignited his wand.

_no_

_NO_

A lifeless body - decapitated and covered in blood - laid in a heap on the floor by the sofa.

_no no no_

_JULIET_

Moody ran to the corpse and dropped to his knees.

The severed head had ended up a few feet from the body. The swollen, protruding eyes faced him.

It wasn't Juliet. It was her sister.

Moody got to his feet and raised his glowing wand. "JULIET?!"

He stepped over smeared streaks of blood and walked down her hallway.

"JULIET?!"

_please_

_please I can't find her dead_

He approached her bedroom slowly, and nudged the door open with his boot. The room hadn't been touched.

Moody walked back down the hallway, and almost stepped on the broken glass that littered the carpet.

_no_

A shattered mirror hung on the wall in front of him. Blood stained the fractured shards left dangling in the frame. Moody grabbed onto the wall to keep himself upright.

_no_

_not both of them_

_Christ no_

_NOT BOTH OF THEM_

The killers had gone after their next targets; Aaron and Juliet.


	131. Forward Motion

**June 1991**

Piles of luggage stacked fifteen feet high crowded the Entrance Hall and the surrounding corridors; trunks secured with leather straps and canvass suitcases displaying hanging tags with names and addresses scribbled in ink; belongings awaiting transport to Hogsmeade.

Students maneuvered through the congested hallways, stepping around baggage and shouldering past one another, weighed down with things they had forgotten to pack the night before - stray textbooks, pewter cauldrons that had spent the year in the Potions classroom and hadn't been cleaned, and armfuls of laundry. Others shouted across the room and waved at friends, stood talking in groups, and guided owls into cages lined with straw.

Anyone who wasn't graduating that evening - or didn't have a sibling who was walking across the stage that would soon be erected in the meadow by the lake - had to be out of the castle by ten o'clock.

Eni walked past a boy trying to shove brass scales and _Intermediate Transfiguration_ into a loaded down duffel bag. Two girls stood by the staircase. They embraced and promised to spend the summer exchanging letters.

_Hold each other close. And don't let go._

_You don't know what's coming for you._

_We never did._

Eni ducked between a group of Fifth Years who weren't paying attention - talking loud and laughing - and headed for Professor McGonagall's office.

The door was open. Eni knocked on the frame and stood in the entryway.

McGonagall looked up and smiled. "Eni, dear, please, come in. Come in and sit down."

Eni did. She wondered if the older witch could see the discolored and worn skin around her eyes despite the charm she'd used to try to hide the week's worth of damage. It had taken her two hours to pull herself out of the shower the last three mornings. Each time she'd turned on the water and stood beneath the hot spray - sobbed _HE'S GONE_ against the tile wall - shuddered while _IT'S NOT FAIR_ the streams ran down _HE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE HERE_ her face - until there was nothing left.

"I just sent your final transcripts off to Liverpool by muggle post. The University will be most pleased. I myself am very proud of your final marks. You more than exceeded expectations, especially considering how difficult it must have been to concentrate with-"

Eni didn't want to hear it. She reached into her pocket and handed Professor McGonagall a folded piece of parchment. "I've already gone over everything with the house elves. They should be able to keep up with the kitchen for a few weeks on their own, at least until Faustus gets here, but please give this to him when he arrives. I've also left updated inventory lists in the pantry, which has been cleaned and sorted. Faustus will need to get orders sent out before the second week of August though, or the food and provisions he requires will never be delivered before the school year starts."

McGonagall read through her list of instructions. "Yes, of course. I will be sure to let him know."

"And please tell him he can send me an owl if he has any questions - some of the stoves can be a bit tricky to operate and the pantry still needs a new pulley system - the rigging was destroyed - with his two years in the kitchens at Drumstrang, I'm sure he'll manage alright, but he still can't do it all on his own."

"I don't intend for him to. I've already spoken with Jacob Thompson. He'll be arriving a week before classes begin to assist Faustus with his preparations."

Eni knew Jacob. He was a good choice.

McGonagall folded the parchment and set it to the side. "Hogwarts never would have made it through the week without your efforts, my dear. You dedicated a lot of your time to making sure none of us went hungry. I've made a few additional deposits into your account as a means of expressing my gratitude for everything you've done for this school, both now and over the years."

"Thank you, Professor, but you didn't have to do that."

"I very much did. And, if there is anything more that I can do for you, please do not hesitate to let me know. You've given so much of yourself, even as you've had to deal with the shock of losing-"

_Don't. Just stop._

Eni said, "I found the note you left on my bed after breakfast. Was there something else you wanted to speak with me about?"

McGonagall opened her desk drawer and took out an unsealed envelope. "With all that has happened, I wasn't sure if I should involve you in any of this, but last month you expressed a desire to help us approach young muggle-born witches and wizards, and introduce them to our world. Is that something you would still like to be involved with?"

"Yes, it is."

"If you need more time to-"

"I don't."

"Very well." McGonagall handed her the envelope. "There is a young girl whose name was written in the Book of Admittance three years ago. The time has come to approach her."

Eni removed the parchment inside and read Minerva's neat handwriting.

_Hermione Granger. The 19th of September, 1979. Hampstead, London, England._


	132. Under the Stairs

**July 1991**

A frayed electrical cord - plugged into the outlet behind the entryway table - extended across the hallway of the fourth house on Privet Drive, and disappeared beneath the door to the cupboard under the stairs. The opposite end of the cable was connected to a lamp with a cracked base, a short where the switch met the socket, and no shade. The bare bulb flickered when the neck wasn't propped between the baseboards in the far corner of the makeshift bedroom at just the right angle.

Harry Potter tried the door again. It was still locked.

He leaned his forehead against the panel and held his stomach. It had been nine days since his uncle had banished him to the cupboard; nine days since the disaster that had been the trip to the zoo, and he wondered if they'd forgotten about him. Even his cousin, who had spent the first two days of Harry's imprisonment breathing through his mouth on the other side of the door and threatening to beat him senseless whenever he was allowed to come out, hadn't even bothered to make sure his footfalls on the stairs the last few days shook the walls of Harry's room hard enough to make his lamp go dark.

Harry didn't mind being alone in the cramped space. It was better than spending every day dodging blows from Dudley and listening to his uncle complain about 'the cheap drills made by the other, inferior manufacturers', but they had only let him out once that morning, and no one had brought him anything to eat since his aunt shoved a flattened half of a sandwich under his door two days ago. The only water he'd had to drink came from the faucet in the water closet.

Harry's stomach cramped. He waited for it to stop, watching a spider crawl across the floorboards in front of the tilted lamp. The arachnid's legs cast lines of dancing shadows on the sloped ceiling above him before it disappeared into his laundry pile.

Harry laid down on the floor and peered through the gap beneath his door. He didn't know what time it was, but the house was dark, and quiet.

So many strange things had always happened wherever he went; objects moved on their own, items disappeared, his hair grew faster than it should have, and, as of last week, he'd shared a rather pleasant conversation with a boa constrictor. The problem was that he'd never been able to control any of it.

_What if I could?_

Harry got to his feet and stared at the doorknob. 

_What if I could make something strange happen on purpose?_

He'd have to be careful. If he damaged the door - or managed to make it vanish like the pane of glass inside the reptile house - his uncle would shove him against the far cupboard wall, take the lamp and his books, and leave him trapped in the dark for the rest of the summer.

Harry reached out his hand. His palm hovered a few inches from the back side of the lock.

_Please._

_Please let this work._

He focused on the deadbolt lever on the other side of the door; imagined himself standing in the hallway and turning it until -

The bolt gave; it slid into its housing with a sudden _click_.

Harry covered his mouth with his hand to stifle a laugh. He'd done it.

He listened for footsteps. Someone upstairs may have heard the lock.

He waited until he was sure the noise hadn't woken up his relatives before he opened the door, and headed for the kitchen.

Harry walked across the tile floor, pulled on the refrigerator handle, and looked inside.

What could he eat? What could he take that they wouldn't miss?

He couldn't touch the sandwiches – wrapped carefully in plastic for lunch the next day – or the container filled to the top with some kind of stew. The rest of the food was raw; a ham that hadn't been cooked, a package of bacon, and a carton of eggs.

Harry closed the refrigerator and want to the pantry. He stared at the shelves and tried to make out the words on the labels in the dim light coming from the streetlamp outside the kitchen window. There were bags of rice and oats; a basket filled with assorted sweets; canned foods; and three unopened packages of biscuits. Harry took one of them, and grabbed a can of baked beans.

He opened the drawer by the sink and lifted the can opener out from under a potato peeler; ate the beans over the sink, buried the empty can in the rubbish bin, and washed the spoon he'd used.

A light went on upstairs. Footsteps shook the light hanging above the table.

 _No._ If they caught him out of his cupboard they would –

Harry tucked the package of biscuits under his shirt and ran into the hallway.

Vernon Dursley came down the stairs – grunting and half-asleep.

Harry closed the door, but he couldn't lock it from the inside. He raised his hand, but nothing happened.

His uncle stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

Harry shook.

_Please don't-_

Vernon crossed the hallway and yanked the cord out of the wall. The cupboard went dark.

Vernon banged on Harry's door with his fist. "What did I tell you about leaving that lamp on all night? I don't spend hours killing myself at work only to have you run up the electric bill. Consider your light privileges revoked."

Harry managed to keep his voice steady, despite his pounding heart. "I wasn't trying to-"

"Go to bed. And be glad the lamp's the only thing you've lost tonight."

Vernon walked into the kitchen, took one of the sandwiches out of the refrigerator, and went back upstairs, having never noticed that the door to the cupboard was unlocked.

Harry collapsed on his bed. 

When his pulse returned to normal, he opened the package of biscuits, and ate every last one.


	133. Initiation

**July 1991**

The fractured panes of glass and spray-painted words of profanity that covered the outside of the red telephone box didn't discourage the man who stood across the street, waiting for the traffic to clear. He'd walked four blocks in the afternoon sun - and wasted half an hour of his day - looking for a payphone. The vandalized old model in front of _No Pint Left Unturned_ would have to do.

At the next break in the continual line of cars, he stepped off the sidewalk and darted across the road; reached for the brass handle and stepped inside the phone booth. The city noise surrounding him diminished as the door swung shut.

He picked up the handset. There was no dial tone.

He tapped the hookswitch and tried again. Nothing.

_Bloody piece of shit._

He slammed the handset back down on its cradle.

_Someone should have posted a damn out of order notice or at least –_

_knock knock knock_

He turned around. A young woman stood outside, smiling at him through the dirty panes.

He pushed the door open. "I'm sorry, love. It seems the line's dead."

"I think I'll still have a go at it, if it's all the same to you."

He stepped out of the box. "Be my guest."

She walked inside, pulled the door closed, and faced the telephone.

That was strange. He could have sworn her hair was red, but now that she was standing on the opposite side of the graffiti-covered panels, the long strands looked brown; auburn maybe, or chestnut. It had to be a trick of the light.

He walked to the corner to give her some privacy, in case she managed to get her call to go through.

As soon as his back was turned, Tonks picked up the handset and dialed six-two-four-four-two.

The next time the man looked at the red telephone box, the young woman was gone.

* * *

With the exception of the obliterated remains of the astronomical clock and the devastated corridors of the North Wing – a few damaged areas that had been shrouded with concealment charms to hide ongoing repairs – the first floor of The Ministry of Magic had been restored to working order; self-propelled carts maneuvered through the dense crowds of people that once again congested the atrium.

The same couldn't be said of The Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Three weeks after the explosion, fractured plaster still hung from the entryway ceiling, and broken furniture littered the hallways; stacked in scattered piles against the walls.

Tonks stepped around an overturned bookcase and looked for the director's office. It was at the far end of the room; empty, dark, and - she discovered - locked.

Tonks backed away from the door. It _was_ still a bit early. She'd just have to wait.

Tonks leaned against a desk covered with fragments of debris until she noticed that the hallway to her left had been spared from Eni's blast. The ceiling was intact and framed copies of _The Daily Prophet_ lined the walls. Tonks walked toward them and read the headlines in the dim light; articles saved from the war. The first four newspapers had been printed before she was born.

_ALL OUT WAR: VOLDEMORT PROCLAIMS HIMSELF DARK LORD_

_HUNDREDS DEAD AFTER ATTACK ON MINISTRY_

_HORROR IN WALES: TWENTY-SIX MUGGLE-BORNS FOUND BOUND, STARVED, AND TORTURED IN DEATH EATER STRONGHOLD_

_THE ONLY OPTION: MUGGLE-BORN FAMILIES FLEE BRITIAN_

_RENEGADE OUTFIT SEEKS TO END THE WAR. CAN THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX BE TRUSTED?_

_THREAT FROM WITHIN: KEY WIZENGAMOT MEMBERS FOUND TO BE DEATH EATERS_

_TWO HUNDRED DEATH EATERS CAPTURED: ALASTOR MOODY FILLS AZKABAN_

_PEACE AT LAST! VOLDEMORT VANISHES!_

_HARRY POTTER: THE BOY WHO LIVED_

_BELOVED AURORS FRANK AND ALICE LONGBOTTOM DRIVEN INSANE_

_MURDERER SIRIUS BLACK SENTANCED TO LIFE IN AZKABAN_

_LESTRANGE CLAN AND BARTY CROUCH JUNIOR SENTANCED TO LIFE IN AZKABAN FOR HORRIFIC CRIMES_

_NO REST FOR THE A_ _URORS WHO CONTINUE THE HUNT FOR FLEEING DEATH EATERS_

"Are you lost?"

Tonks - startled - bumped into a lamp balanced on a chair. She caught it, set it upright, and turned to face a man she had only ever seen in photographs. She recognized Alastor Moody's scared face and the device he wore to replace his left eye from the images that flickered on the wall behind her.

"I'm not, no," Tonks managed, "I have an appointment with Madam Bones at one-thirty."

"You're Nympha-" Moody stopped himself. "Tonks. You're Tonks."

She smiled and stuck out her hand. "And you're Alastor Moody. I've spent my life hearing stories about you and your-"

He ignored her raised hand. "Go back to the atrium and use the first fireplace you see to get yourself home."

Moody walked away from her. 

Tonks followed him. "Excuse me?"

"Amelia should have sent you an owl, but it seems she forgot with all the other shit we've had to deal with."

"I don't understand."

"Your acceptance to the Auror program has been . . . deferred."

"Deferred? On what grounds?"

"Youth and inexperience."

"What's that supposed to mean? I'm not the first bloody student you lot have hired on. Your whole damn manner of operation is to recruit us right out of Hogwarts."

"Things have changed."

Tonks could hear the exhaustion in his voice now, and see it in his face. It had been a few days _a few weeks_ since he'd slept. She wasn't familiar with his usual gait, but he also seemed to drag his prosthetic leg more than he should have.

Moody stopped at a desk covered with stacks of parchment and maps marked with locations Tonks knew well from her searches with Charlie; long nights spent riding her broom until her palms blistered.

Moody kept his back to her. "Go home, Nymphadora."

"No," she said, "I want to find him, too."

Madam Bones walked into the department. "I was hoping you were still here, Alastor. I see you've met Miss Tonks."

"I was under the impression that you were taking my advice and placing a long-term hold on her damn start date."

"I agree that we should re-think our current process for recruiting Aurors. However, seeing as we are now three short, I suggest we try out the one person who managed to meet all of our requirements. Do you agree, Miss Tonks?"

"If you'll still have me."

"Good," Bones said. She handed Moody a folded piece of parchment. "Because our work is far from over."

Moody opened the letter. It was signed by Bathilda Bagshot.

She claimed to have found a massacre site in Godric's Hollow.

* * *

Deformed hinges hung from the posts at the entrance to the graveyard, swaying and creaking in the wind. The late afternoon sun had disappeared and left Godric's Hollow obscured in shadows.

Tonks ignited the end of her wand and followed Moody toward the looming statue of Death. The narrow cobblestone path was covered with trampled, dead wisteria.

They'd gone thirty meters – past faded headstones and plots covered with undergrowth – when Tonks saw something beneath the low-hanging branches of an oak. She left the path to get a better look.

A bar protruded from the dirt in front of her. It was covered with dried blood.

Moody grabbed her shoulder. "Don't move. We're standing at the center of it."

"The center of what?"

In response, he amplified the light on the end of his wand.

The ground surrounding them was saturated with congealed blood.

Tonks covered her mouth with her hand. _Sacred Merlin._ There was so much blood.

Dark streaks of red covered the leaves and grass; a leaked trail that led Moody to a second stained bar. He used the levitation charm to raise it in the air. A warped bolt jutted out from its side.

"The gates," Tonks realized. "These are pieces of the gates."

Moody nodded.

"What do you want me to-"

Moody left the bar suspended between them, reached into his coat, and tossed Tonks a pouch filled with empty vials. "Fill these, but don't touch anything. We need clean samples of the blood so we can identify the victim."

"Do you think all of this came from one person?"

"We won't know until we break down the samples in a cauldron filled with Midnight Oil."

_Could someone survive losing this much blood?_

If they hadn't, where was the body?

Moody watched her. "Are you alright?"

Tonks nodded.

"If you can't handle-"

"I'm fine."

She knelt down and aimed her wand at the ground; siphoned the blood out of the soil and sent it into a waiting vial.

Twenty minutes later she stood at the edge of the site with five full vials. Tonks trailed her wand across the boundaries of the crime scene, marking the extents of the violence and setting a ward to preserve what they had found as much as possible. 

Moody stood inside her perimeter with a camera; documenting the patterns of splatter. It had been abrupt, he'd said, and brutal. The victim had been run through with the bars and left bleeding on the ground. But the weapons hadn't stayed embedded. They'd been yanked out. He had removed pieces of flesh - torn bits of intestine - from a third bar.

_crunch_

_Shit._ She'd stepped on something.

It was a watch; half buried in the leaves, with a worn leather band and a shattered face covered with dried blood.

_Merlin’s wand. The bars are made of iron._

_NO_

She had seen the same watch a hundred times. Almost every day for the past two years.

It was Aaron’s.


	134. The Daily Prophet - 22 July, 1991

**_SEVEN PROTESTORS REMAIN IN MINISTRY CUSTODY. TRIALS SCHEDULED TO BEGIN IN OCTOBER._**

_Madam Dolores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic, has confirmed that all seven of the people who were arrested during last month's chaotic protest turned uprising will remain in Ministry custody until the third week of October, at which time they will be brought before the Wizengamot and tried for their participation in the destructive act of rebellion that devastated The Ministry of Magic and resulted in three deaths. While the names of those who are being held have not yet been released, multiple witnesses have reported that the imprisoned witches and wizards are not the violent ringleaders that they have been portrayed to be, but are instead people who were pulled - at random - from the fleeing crowds. One woman claims that her brother was brutalized during his arrest; struck in the back of the head, forced to the floor, and beaten by security agents as he was attempting to enter a fireplace, having never drawn his wand. Other concerning information regarding the events of the twenty-first of June have started to come to light, including the now well-circulated rumor that The Ministry released tear gas in the arrivals lobby atrium to force the protestors to disband. When asked if there is any truth to these horrific accusations, Madam Umbridge gave the following response:_

_"Why, as you know, the details of what happened during the muggle-born revolt cannot be know for certain until those involved have been tried. However, I would like to remind the public that the reported injuries sustained by the protestors - burns and difficulty breathing - other such nonsense - are common and unfortunate afflictions that often result from dueling in close quarters, as no doubt happened during the insurgence, and are not necessarily the result of coming into contact with a poisonous substance."_

_In an effort to separate the supposed influence of the Office of the Minister from the trials, Madam Amelia Bones, the director of The Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and not Minister Cornelius Fudge, will moderate the Wizengamot during the proceedings. Minister Fudge, who is still recovering from being attacked in his office by one of the muggle-born protestors, has stated that he does not plan on attending the trials at all._

_Madam Bones would like to encourage anyone who was involved with the protest on the twenty-first of June to come forward and give their testimony. No arrests will be made and those who wish to remain anonymous will be allowed to use transfiguration and voice modification charms to protect their identities._

_"I intend to find the truth," Bones stated on Friday, "and wield it to bring the real perpetrators of violence to justice."_

* * *

**_USE OF MUGGLE-BORN TRACE DISCONTINUED. MUGGLE-BORNS STILL IN DANGER._ **

**** _The Department of Magical Law Enforcement announced this morning that the continued outcry from the muggle-born community, the unfair treatment of those who cannot claim a magical heritage, and the inability of the Aurors to use the trace spell and registry to achieve any progress in regard to the ongoing murders has convinced Madam Amelia Bones to discontinue the use of the muggle-born trace and registration program._

_While this news is likely to result in nationwide celebrations, and will be seen as a sign of progress by those who have been monitored by The Department of Magical Law Enforcement since the era of Adelaide Burke, Bones warns that her Aurors suspect the killers have long been using their own trace spell to locate their victims._

_The Department of Magical Law Enforcement will be working with professors from Hogwarts and the Durmstrang Institute to find a way to counteract the killers' trace. Until a solution is found – and the safety of muggle-borns can be assured – muggle-borns are urged to take whatever precautions they deem necessary to protect themselves, to assume they are being tracked by the killers, and to avoid traveling alone._

* * *

**_MISSING AURORS FEARED DEAD_ **

_The Auror Office – long plagued with countless unfortunate events both during and after the war – and a shortage of qualified personnel - has been dealt another blow. Three Aurors tasked with identifying, locating, and hunting down the murderers responsible for the ritualistic killings of almost three-hundred muggle-borns, have been reported missing._

_Juliet Walker, the first muggle-born to work as an Auror after the war, was last seen at her flat in London on the twenty-third of June. Her twin brother, Cassio, was last seen at The Ministry on the twenty-first of June. Aaron Stone, a young Auror training under Alastor Moody, was last seen at Hogwarts in the early morning hours of June twenty-fourth._

_At this time, the disappearances are believed to be a direct result of the Aurors' involvement with the murder cases. Madam Bones believes her operatives were targeted by the killers for their successful captures of Emily Carrow, Madelyn Bulstrode, Joseph Flint, and Renee Gaunt, and fears they may be found with their own throats torn open._

_Photographs of the missing Aurors – provided by The Department of Magical Law Enforcement – have been included on Page Six. If you have seen or heard anything regarding these individuals, please share your information with Madam Bones, or a qualified member of her office, as soon as possible._


	135. Tempest

**August 1991**

A constant onslaught of violent waves collided with the cliff face beneath Charlie, sending sea spray ten meters into the air. He clutched the handle of his broom and drew his wand. It wouldn't be long now. The receding tide had revealed a crescent-shaped sliver in the rocks; the entrance to a submerged cave.

Mia pulled a tangled bridle out of her satchel. "Clyde bet me twenty Galleons that it's a Kelpie."

"Bit far south, don't you think?"

Mia shrugged. "It wouldn't be the first time. The locals were pretty damn insistent that a loch monster destroyed the harbor."

"Do we need to take care of them, too?"

"I've already done that," Mia said. "The only thing they'll remember is the storm."

Charlie had seen what was left of the boats in West Bay; fractured decks, split masts, torn canvass sails, and deformed hulls filled with seawater. Two bodies had been pulled from the wreckage. Nothing about the attack was consistent with a Kelpie. It was too rare for them to go near populated settlements. The water demons preferred to approach isolated fishermen and unsuspecting travelers; individuals they could trick into riding them. Once their prey was on their back, the Kelpie took them beneath the surface, drowned them, and consumed everything but the entrails.

"The body of the third victim hasn't been recovered. There's a chance we'll find the remains in the cave," Mia said. "If that's too much for you, I can-"

"I'm fine."

"You don't have to-"

"I'm not going to go mental over seeing a damn corpse."

He shouldn't have told her about what Tonks and Alastor Moody had found in Godric's Hollow; about the blood; how Tonks had shown up at The Burrow alone, grabbed him, and pulled him outside, trying not to scare his youngest siblings.

"It was Aaron's blood, Charlie," Tonks had told him, shaking - shifting through forms he had never seen her take, "it was _all_ Aaron's blood."

She had found Aaron's watch, too. The one Charlie had wrapped in brown paper.

_But they didn't find a body._

_He's not dead._

"Edison said you stopped responding to his letters."

"I did," Charlie said. "What of it?"

"Edison needs help, and he wants you. He's wanted you since Bennett and I told him about South America. But he'll find someone else if you don't give him an answer."

"Tell him to have at it."

Charlie kept his eyes on the ocean and the expanding mouth of the cave.

"How long are you going to look for him?"

"As long as I have to."

"What happens when you don't find him? When it's a year from now and he's still missing?"

Charlie didn't say anything.

"I know you don't want to hear this. I didn't want to hear it." Mia untangled the bridle and draped it over her shoulder. "Don't put your life on hold. Not for so long that the tragedy becomes who you are."

She had almost made that mistake.

"I can't leave," Charlie said. "Not yet."

He headed for the cave. Mia followed him.

The entrance was still partially submerged. Charlie ignited the end of his wand and hovered above the waves. Dark water churned inside the narrow passageway beyond the cliff face; rising and falling against the interior rock walls. It would be tight for a bit, but the tide was on their side.

Charlie leaned forward until the handle of his broom pressed against his chest, and flew into the cave. His back scraped against the uneven ceiling as he navigated farther down the passageway and lost daylight.

The entrance corridor expanded into a massive chamber with rock formations that hung a few meters above his head. Charlie sat up and raised his wand, using the light to scan the expanse; looking for movement in the undulating water. Leaking seawater drained off the stalactites and ran down the walls, continuing the ongoing process of marine erosion.

Charlie stopped and ran his fingers along a scared crag. It wasn't all erosion.

Deep parallel gouges had been cut _clawed_ into the rock.

"There's more over here." Mia's voice echoed across the barren space.

They followed the claw marks into another passageway. A portion of the gouges looked recent, with sharp edges and clean surfaces that stood out in contrast to the surrounding rock faces, but the rest were worn down and stained from prolonged contact with the shifting ocean. Whatever they were tracking – neither of them could guess the species based on the gouges, but whatever had torn into the wall was massive – had lived down here for a long time.

_What made it attack West Bay? Did it ransack other towns before this without being seen?_

_Or was it provoked?_

The passageway pitched forward. Charlie and Mia descended along the sloping ceiling as water cascaded beneath them.

They flew into an immense cavern with protruding boulders and a churning tidepool as wide as a Quidditch pitch. Charlie listened for a creature - for any movement - but he couldn't hear much over the rushing seawater that came from the corridor behind them.

They were halfway across when a clawed hand shot out of the water, ripped Charlie off his broom, and dragged him beneath the surface.

Charlie shut his mouth and held onto his glowing wand as his vision became a chaotic maelstrom of scaled flesh, swirling water, trapped air, and blood. He tried to shove himself away from the creature that pulled him deeper – but its claws were imbedded in his back. Adrenaline and shock had kept him from feeling the pain, but he now realized the blood mixing with the brine in front of him was his own.

_Where's the head?_

If he could summon Mia's bridle before he drowned, he might be able to keep the damn animal from -

There was no time for that. An open mouth filled with pointed teeth came at him.

Instinct took over. White, hot energy _BANG_ erupted from the end of Charlie's raised wand. The force of the blast pushed him back, startled the creature – which dropped him, and gave him enough time to propel himself toward what he very much hoped was the surface.

Charlie breached the water and gasped.

_BANG BANG BANG_

Mia circled Charlie, assaulting the roaring creature with stunning spells and trying to hit the moving targets that were its –

_Fuck. How hard did it grab me?_

Charlie saw four heads.

Two more came out of the water to his left.

_Bloody fucking hell._

It wasn't a Kelpie. It was a Hydra.

Charlie summoned his broom. He grabbed the incoming handle as duel sets of teeth snapped at him, pulled himself on, and shot into the air, dodging the Hydra's thrashing necks.

_BANG BANG BANG BANG_

Mia's next round of stunning spells rendered two of the heads unconscious.

The Hydra screamed from four of its throats. The sound was deafening in the enclosed space.

Charlie raised his wand and aimed at the head in front of him – thought better of it – and dived back toward the entrance of the cavern. They had to get the Hydra out of the cave. The tidepool was too deep. If they incapacitated it in here, it would drown.

Charlie made sure the Hydra saw him - that it very much wanted to continue the hack job it had started on his back - and flew into the inclined passageway.

It chased him.

He didn't wait to see if Mia followed them.

Charlie leaned forward to avoid the crags that protruded from the ceiling as he tore down the corridor. Blood soaked his shirt and ran down his ribs.

The Hydra roared. The ceiling collapsed around Charlie.

He flew into a crevice to avoid the falling rock and slammed into a wall of solid stone. Charlie got the air knocked out of him, but he stayed on his broom.

The Hydra stuck one of its four conscious heads into the opening and tried to bite off his arms.

_Fuck._

It was close, loud, and there was nowhere to go.

And something was in the water. Charlie looked down and saw the floating remains of the third victim from the West Bay harbor. There wasn't enough of a body left to attempt a recovery.

The Hydra screamed and bashed its tail against the walls surrounding his crevice. Debris fell on Charlie. He tore his wand in a tight circle and cast a shield in time to avoid being crushed. He had to get out of here. His damn prison was coming down around him.

Charlie stuck his wand past the shield and _BANG_ fired off another blast of energy, but the Hydra wasn't caught off guard this time. Its front teeth clamped down on Charlie's wand. He released _BANG BANG BANG_ a rapid series of stunning spells directly into the creature's eyes. The head went limp. Charlie tore his wand out of its teeth, stripping the _fuck me_ Ash off the tip. He wedged himself past its neck and flew out of the crevice.

Mia was ahead of him. She had crippled another head.

The Hydra roared and ran after them with its immobilized, open mouths trailing after the ones that still functioned. 

It was time to get out of the cave.

Charlie and Mia accelerated through the corridor and raced across the first chamber. They flew out of the entrance with the Hydra barreling after them, thrashing in the open ocean.

Mia scanned the coastline and pointed to an outcropping. "There!"

They cut across the top of the waves. The Hydra followed them to the rocks.

As soon as the massive creature lumbered out of the sea and stood on stable ground, they opened fire.

The Hydra collapsed.

Charlie jumped off his broom and stroked one of its unconscious heads.

He smiled. He'd missed this. 

_And a damn Hydra, of all things._

Newt Scamander himself had never encountered one, or, at least, he had never bothered to document anything about them in _Fantastic Beasts._

Mia aimed her wand at his back. "Hold still."

 _Episkey_ wouldn't do much for the deep wounds, but she could stop some of the bleeding until he could get to a healer. Charlie's flesh wasn't the only thing that had been battered.

"Shit," Mia said, "your wand."

The Unicorn hair core was visible at the end – a bright tuft of white wrapped in chipped Ash.

Charlie shrugged. "It still works."

Mia lowered her wand and took a field kit out of her satchel. She tossed a roll of gauze to Charlie.

"Or," Charlie said, pulling his torn and blood-stained shirt over his head, "maybe I'll get a new one before I head to Romania."

He knew a soon to be First Year who could use his battered wand.


	136. More Important Things

**August 1991**

An assorted variety of paper plates and cups floated through the kitchen in the early morning sunlight, suspended at different heights between the sink and the table. Hermione sat on the floor in the middle of the room with her hands raised, trying to direct the motion of the items drifting above her head. Using disposable dishes - things she couldn't break - had been a stroke of brilliance. Now that she wasn't worried about leaving the house in shambles, she could concentrate, experiment, and find ways to control whatever it was she was doing.

Her parents thought all of the nonsense - possessed household objects leaping off of shelves, doors opening and closing without warning, and finding their daughter cleaning up pieces of shattered glassware at three in the morning - was over. As soon as things returned to normal, they started working overlapping shifts at their dental practice in Camden Town, leaving Hermione alone every morning with a plate of ham and eggs, and apologizing to her for it as they walked out the front door. Neither of them ever saw her check the driveway a few minutes later to make sure both cars were gone.

Even with privacy, teaching herself how to direct whatever type of energy it was - Hermione still wasn't sure if it was telekinesis or some bizarre gravitational field that had decided to latch onto her - wasn't easy. It had taken her four days to get the plates and cups to lift into the air with any consistency, another week to make them to spin on command, and the rest of the summer to work out how to send them flying around the kitchen.

Hermione rotated her wrists until the dishes hovering three feet above her arranged themselves into an organized -

_rinnngggggg rinnngggggg rinnngggggg_

The dishes came crashing down. Hermione threw her arms over her head.

_rinnngggggg rinnngggggg rinnngggggg_

A few of the cups hit the tile, bounced, and rolled under the cabinets.

_rinnngggggg rinnngggggg rinnngggggg_

Hermione got to her feet, dragged a chair across the kitchen, and climbed up to reach the telephone mounted to the wall by the refrigerator.

_rinnngggggg rinnngg -_

Hermione picked up the handset. "Hello?"

A woman asked, "Is this the Granger residence?"

"Yes, it is," Hermione said, "may I ask who's calling?"

"Is this . . . damn. I'm not going to pronounce this right. Is this Her Mon Ey? Am I talking to Her Mon Ey?"

"It's _Hermione_."

"I knew I would butcher it."

Hermione didn't recognize the woman's voice. She repeated her question. "May I ask who's calling?"

"Right," the woman said. Hermione could hear traffic in the background. "It's been awhile since I've used a telephone. Seems I've forgotten the bit about introductions. My name is Eni Iro."

"Are you trying to reach my parents?"

"No, Hermione, I wanted to speak to you before I involved them."

Hermione was suddenly very aware of the fact that she was home alone and decided it was time to get off the telephone. "I'm not supposed to talk to people I don't know."

"Of course not."

"I can take your number and have my mother or father call you back when they-"

"Hermione, when did it start?"

"When did what start?"

"When did you realize you could use magic?"

Hermione dropped the handset. She jumped off the chair, climbed up on the counter next to the sink, and looked out the window that faced the front yard and the street.

The woman's distant voice came from the floor; between the legs of the chair and the wall. "Hermione? Did I lose you?"

She'd forgotten to close the curtains. And this woman must have _seen_ her playing with her floating dishes and waving her arms in the air. How could she be so stupid?

Disembodied words echoed off the tile. "You must feel a bit alone."

Hermione pulled the curtains over the window. She should have hung up. She never should have -

"I felt alone when I started using magic. I didn't understand what was happening to me either."

Hermione lowered herself to the floor.

"I'm not going to get you in trouble or hurt you. I can help you, Hermione."

She walked back to the telephone. The spiral cord had wrapped itself around the chair. Hermione untangled it and reached for the handset.

Eni could hear her breathing. "Are you alright?"

"It's magic?" Hermione whispered into the receiver, "I'm using magic?"

"Yes," Eni said. "You see, you're a witch."

"But there's no such thing as witches."

"I wish someone had told me that before I went to school with a bunch of them."

"You went to school to become a witch?"

"No, I was born a witch, Hermione, same as you. As you may have realized, magic can be a bit tricky. I went to school to learn how to control it; how to use it. That's why I'm calling. I represent Hogwarts; the best school of witchcraft and wizardry in the country, and I'd like to invite you to attend."

"But I go to a school already. A private school I can walk to from-"

"Maybe it would be best if we did this in person."

The call went dead.

"Hello?"

All Hermione heard was the dial tone. 

She set the handset in its cradle and waited, standing on the chair and staring at the silent telephone.

_Do this in person?_

Perhaps the woman intended to stop by after her parents –

_knock knock knock_

Hermione froze.

_knock knock knock_

Hermione got off the chair and leaned around the kitchen doorway.

The voice from the telephone came from the other side of the front door. "Hermione? Are you still in there?"

She grabbed the chair and carried it down the hallway; stood on it and looked through the peephole. A young woman stood on the stoop. The books she carried looked heavy.

"I didn't realize you were home alone. You don't have to come out. We can talk through the door, if you prefer. And I can leave these on the rug."

Eni Iro didn't look anything like a witch. She looked more like one of the punk rock hooligans her father always pulled her away from at the bus stop.

Eni had heard Hermione drag the chair up to the door. She didn't blame her for staying inside, but she wanted to make sure the girl knew she wasn't here just for the hell of it.

Eni let go of the books, but they didn't hit the ground. They floated in the air next to her. She took the top book off the stack – _Hogwarts: A History_ \- and held it up to the peephole.

"I was about your age when Professor Flitwick knocked on my door. He was very awkward and didn't explain things in enough detail, and I was much too shy to ask questions. Anyway, I decided it might be a good idea to leave you with some books, so you'll know what to expect if you decide to go to Hogwarts, or if you just want to learn more about how to use magic on your own."

Hermione got off the chair and moved it away from the door. She kept the chain in-place and pulled it open.

"Hello, Hermione." Eni smiled and passed her an envelope with her name on it. "It's nice to finally meet you. Why don't you show me a bit of what you can do?"


	137. Enough

**August 1991**

A discarded pair of boots - covered with dirt and threaded with frayed laces - had been left at the bottom of the staircase, next to a folded wool scarf and worn leather gloves. Ron Weasley stepped over the lot of it and walked across the living room, past a wall-mounted clock that didn't tell time. Eight of the device's hands overlapped; pointed at a painted illustration of The Burrow and the surrounding meadow. The orientation of the ninth hand indicated that Bill was still _TRAVELING_.

Ron picked up the pillows on the chair in front of the fireplace and stuck his hand beneath the seat cushion.

A muffled voice came from his pocket. "Perhaps you left it in the barn again, sir."

Ron doubted that. He'd used the wand after lunch and didn't remember taking it outside.

"You could wait until morning to set me right, if you wish. I've suffered much greater wounds in battle, you know."

"No," Ron said, tossing the pillows back on the chair. "I'm not leaving you in this state all night. It's my fault you're in two pieces."

He took out both halves of his trampled red knight and set them upright on the mantel. He'd stepped on the tiny soldier when he'd gotten out of bed, severing the knight's upper body from its legs and horse. The piece - horse and rider - had let out cries of pain as Ron crushed it. He should have cleaned up his room, and he should have listened to Percy and cast a better self-mending charm on his chess set.

"Anyone could have made the same mistake, sir."

Ron looked under a stack of parchments that had been scattered across the hallway table. "No, anyone else in this house wouldn't have left you on the floor, and they'd have you back together by now."

The back door opened - quiet and slow. Ron jumped. He wasn't supposed to be out of bed this late.

A lamp came on in the kitchen. Ron grabbed his damaged knight, turned to go back to the stairs –

\- and collided with the firewood rack. The resulting clang echoed down the hallway.

_No. Idiot._

Ron reached for the piece of wood he'd knocked loose and tried to wedge it back into place.

Charlie leaned around the kitchen doorway. "Are you trying to get me caught?"

"I thought you were dad or-"

"Shhhhhh." Charlie pulled him into the kitchen. "If you want to sneak out, there's better ways to go about it. The window in the fourth floor hallway is your best bet. Mum's never set a good ward on it and you can climb down the drainpipe once you're on the roof."

"I wasn't trying to sneak out," Ron said. He opened his clenched hand and showed Charlie the broken chess piece. "I've got to fix him. I stepped on him and the self-mending charm only works for the battle injuries they get during games."

"Ah, poor bloke. And that explains your bleeding foot."

Ron looked down. He hadn't noticed. A few drops were smeared on the tile behind him.

"Here," Charlie pulled out a chair, "sit down."

Ron leaned back. Charlie knelt down and looked at his bare foot. "Where's the wand?"

"That's why I was down here. I was trying to find it. I don't remember where I left it."

Charlie grabbed a hand towel and wiped the blood off Ron's foot. He took out the Chestnut wand he'd bought himself at Ollivander's last week and turned it on his _Episkey_ kid brother. 

When the puncture wound closed, he handed it to Ron. "You know what to do."

Ron took the wand. "I don't know what to aim it at."

"You left my old one somewhere on our property, right? Just point that one straight ahead and picture the other one in your head when you cast the charm. It will find you."

Ron raised Charlie's wand and, " _Accio Ash wand!_ ", summoned its battered predecessor.

Something hit the window above the sink. Charlie opened it. His old wand flew past him into Ron's waiting hand.

_Huh. Guess I did take it outside._

Charlie smiled. "If you don't want it, at least lose it properly so mum will take you to get a new one."

"No, I like yours alright," Ron said. He pointed the wand at the knight. " _Reparo!_ "

The two halves of the piece fused themselves back together.

The tiny soldier rode in circles on the table. "Well done, sir! I've never felt so complete. Why, I should-"

"Yes, yes, he's brilliant," Charlie said, "now be quiet before you wake up the whole damn Burrow and I have to explain myself."

Ron eyed the duffel bag and the broom on the floor by the pantry. "Are you leaving again?"

"For a few months, at least. Maybe a lot longer if everything works out."

"But you haven't been home all summer. You just got back and I never talked to you about-"

"I can't stay, Ron. Sitting around here isn't good for me."

"But, Charlie-"

"You won't be around much longer either with school starting."

Ron said, "It's that I wanted to talk to you about. I can't do it, Charlie."

"You can't do what?"

"I can't go to Hogwarts," Ron said. He picked up the now rigid chess piece and tucked it in his pocket. "I won't be good at any of it."

"Ron, you'll be fine. The rest of us made it through alright."

"But that's just it. You've all done it. You've all done everything and I'm not good enough at any of it."

Charlie knelt back down in front of Ron. "That's not true."

"Yes, it is. Bill was Head Boy, you were Quidditch captain, and now Percy's a prefect. Everyone loves Fred and George because they're funny and I'm just . . . not any of those things."

"Ron, you don't know what you'll be good at yet, you are funny, and none of those things matter like you think they do."

"Yes, they do. I'll be there sitting alone while the twins entertain everyone and Percy will be-"

"Sleeping with that bloody badge of his and falling off his broom in the courtyard because he's never been able to fly for shite."

That got a smile.

Charlie put a hand on Ron's knee. "You don't have to be anything like the rest of us. Being you is more than enough. If anyone makes you feel otherwise – or messes with you – take a swing at them."

Charlie grabbed his broom and duffel bag. Ron followed him into the living room.

Charlie sat on the stairs and pulled on his boots. "If something happens, and you don't want to talk to the twins or mum and dad about it – if you need _me_ – send an owl. I won't be so far away that I can't help you. I've got friends who will help if I can't, too."

Charlie stood up, wrapped the scarf around his neck, and grabbed the gloves.

He wrapped his arms around Ron. "I mean it. Whatever you need."

Ron nodded against him.

Charlie held onto him for another moment before he pulled away. He had to leave before it got too late or he'd have to spend his entire trip casting concealment spells to hide himself from the damn muggles.

Ron followed him to the back door. "Where are you going? Should I tell mum and dad?"

"If you want," Charlie said. "I'm going to Romania. I figure it's about damn time I did something with dragons."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I make a request? I'm finally editing this monster and I found a few minor things I had to fix. It definitely needs some work. If anyone has time, can you tell me things you DON'T like about the story? Anything I should change? Take out? Spend less time on? Is there a character I should have written out? Have at it.
> 
> Whatever you can tell me would be great. If it's still working for you, that's great, too. I want to make sure it's reading well. I know the last few chapters have been on the short side.


	138. A Bit Mad

**September 1991**

The enchanted ceiling of The Great Hall flickered with a hundred pinpricks of light; stars suspended in an artificial night sky. Dumbledore held onto the podium and looked across the room, studying the faces of students he did not intend to treat like children.

"And finally," he said, "I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

The hall went silent, apart from a muffled laugh that came from the Gryffindor table. Dumbledore ignored it, raised his wand, and selected a tune while the rest of the faculty members displayed annoyed expressions. They could have done without the chaotic renditions of the school anthem.

The golden ribbon he had cast to display the lyrics fell out of the air a moment later as the song concluded, dissolving before it hit the floor. Dumbledore dismissed the students. Wood scraped against stone as they stood to leave, shoving benches out of the way, calling to each other, and filing out of the room. Dumbledore picked up his goblet and watched Harry Potter _neither can live while the other survives_ until the boy disappeared in the departing crowds, wondering if there was another option.

Professor McGonagall stepped between him and the staff table. "I thought we were in agreement that it would be best not to mention the third-floor corridor. This won't end well for any students who decide to embrace their curiosity."

"On the contrary, my dear, it would be more unfortunate to have a First Year stumble across Hagrid's beast without any prior warning. Unless, perhaps, you want someone to lose a limb?"

"What I want is to set wards, seal off the entire corridor, and be done with it until you decide what to do with the damn stone."

Dumbledore took a drink. "I'm afraid Nicolas has still not responded to my request for direction. And I will not relocate or destroy it without his consent."

"You should have locked it up behind guardian enchantments in your office," McGonagall said. "We could have done without the elaborate labyrinth nonsense."

"My office has been compromised on too many occasions, and wards are no longer a guaranteed means of protection, or, it seems, of keeping someone out."

The ceiling transitioned to an early evening twilight as the floating candles extinguished themselves. Platters of uneaten food vanished from the tables, followed by the used dishes and silverware.

McGonagall hadn't moved. "Is there any other important information you've neglected to share with me, Albus?"

_"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies. The Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not, and either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives."_

"Nothing comes to mind."

Dumbledore drained his goblet and stepped around her. McGonagall followed him to the narrow door at the back of the hall.

"Don't think - for a moment - that I can't see the fatigue at the corners of your eyes," she said, "or the way you've chosen to go right back to your old habit of taking a bottle from the kitchen up to your quarters most nights. I still hold you in high regard, Albus, much to my own detriment, but even I have my limits. You were gone a long time. I'm not convinced that all of you made it back, and I will not hesitate to resume my position as headmistress should you find yourself unable to perform your duties or protect the children."

"There will be no need for that." Dumbledore reached for the brass handle. "Goodnight, Minerva."

He stepped into the passageway behind The Great Hall, and left her standing alone.

The hallway in front of Dumbledore wasn't much wider than his shoulders. He walked forward with his body turned sideways to maneuver through the restricted space - past uneven masonry, wall-mounted torches, and oak doors that led to classrooms - until he came to a circular stone staircase. Dumbledore ascended the steps until he arrived at the Gargoyle Corridor on the second floor.

The sapient - yet silent - stone guardian stepped out of the way as he approached. Dumbledore took the next set of stairs up to his office and opened the doors.

Someone stood in the dark by his desk, clutching a wand.

A familiar voice asked, "Did you think you could avoid me forever?"

The lamps ignited. Fawkes shrieked.

Dumbledore walked forward and faced Alastor Moody. "I see your former protégé isn't the only one capable of entering this room without my consent."

"Where is he?"

"I haven't the faintest idea."

"I found Aaron's blood covering the ground in Godric's Hollow, not thirty meters from James and Lily Potter's graves. Aaron doesn't frequent that graveyard, let alone that damn town, and neither do the muggle-born killers, as far as I am aware," Moody said. "It's your location."

"Are you so desperate for answers that you've decided I'm responsible? That you've chosen to spend your time interrogating me when that insolent boy always intended to use and betray you?"

"Fudge was right. We kept you in Azkaban too long. All those months spent in a cold cell did fuck all for your sanity."

Dumbledore walked past Moody and opened a cabinet behind his armillary sphere. "There is an ancient virtue I think you will find helpful, Alastor. You should always ensure that your own house is in order before you concern yourself with the affairs of others."

He reached toward the back of a shelf and took out an assortment of newspapers. The edges were curled and the parchment was worn with age. "You think your Aurors disappeared; that they were targeted and attacked, and either the terrorists who have spent the last six years slaughtering muggle-borns or myself are to blame."

"It wouldn't be the first time you've left a bloody mess for me to find, or," Moody's voice wavered, "the first time you've hurt him."

Dumbledore found a copy of _The Daily Prophet_ from November of 1981 and pulled it out of the stack. He crossed the room and opened a drawer at the bottom of his desk. "It is always difficult – often heartbreaking – to learn the truth about someone you've cared for and treated as your own; to find that they intended to use you for their own corrupt means."

"If you're talking about Aaron, then you are delusional, and you know nothing about him."

Dumbledore took out a bound set of documents and closed the drawer.

"I know your affection for him made you blind to who he was," Dumbledore handed Alastor Moody the newspaper, "to the eyes that stared back at you."

The scarred face of Rodolphus Lestrange flickered and shifted behind the iron bars of a cage at the center of one of the Wizengamot dungeons, beneath a headline that read _UNTHINKABLE: LESTRANGE CONFESSES HEINOUS WAR CRIMES_.

"What are you on about?" Moody asked, but he didn't take his eyes off the photograph.

"You can't tell me you don't see the resemblance, Alastor. Aaron inherited a lot more than his father's dark hair and the defiant set of his jaw."

Moody shoved the newspaper at Dumbledore. "Did you tell him these lies? If you provoked him or tried to make him think he's-"

Dumbledore raised his hand and summoned the unlabeled vial that was still sitting near the pensieve. He held it up between them. "I showed him the truth."

Moody took the vial and watched the contained strands of memory churn. "Whose head did you pull this out of?"

"As I told Aaron, the memory is my own, but I am not the subject."

"More lies, then."

"Do with it what you will," Dumbledore said, "but if your intention is to know where Aaron is, and why he hasn't come back, view the contents of that vial. He never belonged to you."

"He was never one of them, even if Lestrange was one of the bastards who abandoned him. Aaron didn't know."

"Believe what you will. That boy left you – with all the secrets you shared with him – all of your dueling and battle tactics and Ministry information – and went with them." Dumbledore handed Alastor the document from the drawer. "And he wasn't the only one."

Moody studied the roster of the First Year class of 1974; a collection of young, eager faces and names. Juliet was among them.

Cassio wasn't.

It had to be a mistake.

Moody looked through the bound sheets of parchment - at more classes from the same time period. "Where's the rest of Juliet's class?"

"The list in your hand is complete."

"It can't be. Cassio isn't-"

"At first, I thought perhaps _The Prophet_ had gotten it wrong when it referred to the third missing Auror as Juliet's twin. They do tend to make a mess of things."

"He _is_ Juliet's damn twin."

"No, Alastor, I'm afraid that is another lie you've been told," Dumbledore said. "Now, you must ask yourself why Cassio Walker - one of your Aurors - doesn't exist."


	139. All in the Family

**October 1991**

Stained ebony carpet - worn thin and threadbare to the point of exposing the underlying wood flooring in several places - lined the shadowed front hallway of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. The curtains that covered the floor-to-ceiling windows in the library and the dining room blocked the light that came from the back courtyard, leaving the desolate rooms dark and cold. The house had sat abandoned since 1985, when Walburga Black died alone - writhing on her bed.

_BANG_

The front door flew open and crashed into the foyer wall, knocking a piece of plaster loose. Nineteen years after her mother burned her own face off the family tapestry, Tonks peered inside her ancestral home and ignited her wand.

The house seemed to consume the light. She couldn't see past the staircase and she wasn't familiar with the layout. But, if what her mother had told her was true, it wouldn't take her very long to turn the place over.

Tonks shoved the door closed and reached for a knob next to an empty hutch. The gas lamps mounted along the hallway ignited, casting discolored light through opaque globes coated with dust and grime.

Grimmauld Place had once been a lavish and imposing manor - Tonks could see that now, as she stood in the remains of the grand entryway. The staircase in front of her curved upward to the second-floor landing, where an expansive balcony overlooked the space she occupied. If her mother - Andromeda - had not been disowned - and Tonks hadn't been a half-blood her grandmother had tried to kill while she was was still in the womb - she might have grown up running up and down the stairs, chasing after her older cousins. As it was, this was not a place that held any memories for her, she'd never met her cousins, and neglect had left the dwelling surrounding her decrepit and forlorn. Dense clusters of cobwebs hung from the arms and prisms of the chandelier above her head and deteriorated wallpaper laid in clumps near the door to the sitting room. The walls had been stripped of their portraits and art pieces, leaving behind rectangles of untarnished paint. It would take a lot of work to restore the home, should anyone ever attempt it. 

Tonks would rather see it burned. Her mother hated this place. 

Tonks walked forward with her wand raised. Nothing was in the sitting room, apart from chaise lounges and high-backed chairs draped with expensive linens meant to preserve the upholstery. The library, office, and living room weren't much different. The former was cluttered with books that had been left on the bookshelves and the floor. Tonks spent forty minutes going through the rooms, flipping through ancient copies of volumes she had read in school - all bound in dragon hide – and opening empty drawers. If there was anything of value to her cause at Grimmauld Place, it had already been liberated and taken elsewhere.

Spiders scattered from the cabinets in the dining room as Tonks walked past the dust-covered table. The fine china the arachnids crawled over was stained grey with age and filth; covered in layers of webs and nests. A dumbwaiter was in the far corner of the room. Tonks opened the hatch and looked down the shaft. A horrible _oh fuck me_ smell came from the basement.

Tonks found a servant's staircase off the entryway hall and took it down to the lower level. The stone steps were uneven, narrow, and steep. There wasn't a railing.

A voice came out of the darkness ahead of her. "A stranger is in Mistress' home."

Tonks tore her wand in fast circles and pulled at the air. A jackrabbit - surrounded by a trail of light – tore free and leaped down the stairs, making the figure that stood in the darkness beneath her visible.

It was an emaciated house elf. Patches and folds of worn skin covered its body.

"Mistress would be most upset," it muttered.

Tonks' jackrabbit disappeared into the room at the bottom of the stairs – a kitchen, it looked like – there was a wood-burning stove near the door. When it didn't find a foe to eliminate, it dissolved into the void.

The smell was worse down here. Something had died and gone rotten.

The house elf clutched its skeletal arms. "Most upset."

Tonks knelt down on the bottom steps. "I'm sure she would have a few things to say about it, but it seems she isn't around to protest much."

The frail creature didn't even seem to hear her. It rocked back and forth where it stood, almost catatonic.

"Ey, you alright?"

Incoherent mumbled words came from the elf's mouth.

_Shit. Bet it's been here on its own since Walburga kicked it._

"What's your name?"

"Mistress would punish Kreacher for allowing this. Mistress would flay Kreacher with-"

"Have you been here by yourself since your mistress died?"

No response.

The pungent odor of rot was overwhelming. Tonks adjusted the configuration of her cartilage until her nasal cavities were blocked, and breathed through her mouth.

The house elf looked into the darkness like she wasn't there.

Tonks held her glowing wand up between them. "Kreacher, look at me. That is your name, right? Kreacher? I'm a relation of your late mistress and I'm on the hunt for some records from the war. Is there anything besides the old cloth hanging on the wall in the hallway that I could use to figure out where-"

The slight creature finally met her gaze. "You are no Black."

Maybe a smile would help. She tried one. "I wish that were true! I wasn't born lucky enough."

"You must leave now. You defile this house."

Or not. _Shit. He's not going to be any help._

Tonks stood up and walked down the remaining stairs. 

_Merlin's arsehole. What is that smell?_

Kreacher shook as she stepped around him.

The stench came from a door near the kitchen. Tonks prepared her stomach for whatever was inside and yanked it open.

An ancient cast iron boiler took up most of the closet. Tonks squeezed between its smoke box and the brick wall -

\- and found the source of the smell; a den in the back corner, filled with soiled rags, strips of carpet torn from the upstairs floors, and rodent carcasses in various states of decay. Some had been picked clean to the bones; others had elf-sized teeth marks imbedded in the raw, rotten flesh. Piles of what was very much not dirt covered the floor.

Tonks heard Kreacher behind her and turned around. "Let's get you out of here, yeah?"

"You defile this house."

"Yes, I do, but I'm also the only Black family representative you've got at the moment." Tonks pulled off her left boot and held it out toward Kreacher. "Will this work or do I need to toss you a sock?"

Kreacher backed away from her. "You are not Kreacher's mistress. Kreacher will not be freed by you. Kreacher will not go with you."

"You can't stay here and live off of whatever rats happen by, either. If you don't take this and come with me, I'll send someone from The Ministry to drag you out of here by your-"

Kreacher screamed. The sound was deafening in the small space.

Tonks reached for him and he ran from the closet. She pulled her boot back on and went after him; chased him up the stairs to the front hallway.

The shriek that came from the portrait affixed to the wall between the staircase and the dining room made Tonks cover her ears. "LEAVE MY HOUSE! HALF-BREED FILTH! ABOMINATION!"

Ah. This was her great aunt, then. What a joy she must have been in life.

"DRUELA SHOULD HAVE FINISHED THE JOB!"

_Fuck, but she's loud._

_Shit._

Where was Kreacher? Tonks walked through the dining room and the library with her wand raised, checking beneath the furniture and listening for movement.

The house elf had fled.

"VILE HALF-BREED ABOMINATION! I WILL SEND MY SISTER HERE TO FIND YOU! I WILL SEND HER HERE TO KILL YOU LIKE SHE SHOULD HAVE!"

Tonks stopped. _Of course. How could I be so daft?_

Nothing at Grimmauld Place would help her, but there was another option.

Tonks waved at Walburga Black's screaming face on her way out the front door. She'd have to ask someone from The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures to come back and liberate Kreacher. The elf's isolation had clearly left him mentally disturbed. Surely, he didn't want to stay in this awful house alone.

Tonks crossed the street, made sure no one was around, and _CRACK_ vanished.

Kreacher spent the next few months attacking the various Ministry employees who arrived at Grimmauld Place. His bites drew blood.

No one managed - or wanted - to remove him from the premises.

Kreacher spent almost the next three years living alone in the relative comfort of his boiler closet den - while what was left of his sanity eroded - until the morning Sirius Black blasted the front door open with a protective Hippogriff in tow. 

Kreacher bit them, too.

* * *

Two hours after appariting from Grimmauld Place, Tonks stood in an isolated patch of darkness between two street lamps, across the street from an estate surrounded by a high wrought iron fence. The close spacing of the bars blocked the grounds from view, and there was no posted address to compare to the one she'd pulled from The Ministry's records, but the Latin words - _Toujours Pur_ \- affixed to the stone columns on either side of the front gate told her she'd found Raven Down; her mother's childhood home.

Now, she just had to get inside.

Tonks reached into her coat pocket with fingers that weren't her own and took out a palm-sized hand mirror. She walked toward the street lamp on the left for more light and studied her appearance in the reflective surface she held, making adjustments to her features - lightening her complexion until she could see the veins on the back of her hands and elongating her nose just a bit more - until she was sure she'd gotten it right. It was hard when all she had to go by was a photograph she'd cut out of a _Prophet_ article from last summer. If this was going to work, she'd have to maintain the form she'd taken down to the damn crow's feet.

She smiled at her new reflection.

_Not bad._

_Pretty bloody brilliant, actually._

_Well, almost._

She'd managed to transform herself into a dead ringer, but she'd had to take a chance on the clothes, and she couldn't do anything for her voice. A modification charm would only help if she knew what pitch and tone to modify it to, and she didn't. It was another thing she wasn't familiar with. Her vocal cords had shifted along with the rest of her body, so she wouldn't sound like herself, but she wasn't sure she'd sound anything like the woman she was now, either.

Oh well. Time to find out.

Tonks slipped the mirror back into her pocket and crossed the street.

There were wards – the heavy guardian enchantments wrapped themselves around Tonks as she walked up to the front gate. It wouldn't take her very long to find out if this was a bad idea. She should have at least told Alastor Moody what she was up to, but leaving a note or sending an owl seemed pointless when she hadn't seen or heard from the man since the last week of August. The only signs that he was still around were the increasing number of empty bottles of Scotch she kept finding at the desk he occupied in the Auror office.

The boundaries of the enchantments dissolved and the gate swung open.

Tonks smiled. Her form had tricked the wards.

She followed the cobblestone path across the dark front lawn and walked toward the lamplight coming from the porte cochere at the front of the three-story manor. It wasn't what she had been expecting. While very much an estate, Raven Down had not been well-maintained. Overgrown tree branches and vegetation blocked most of the residence from view, and the lawn could use a good trim. Three of the windows were broken and what looked like mold had spread over the statues that guarded the roundabout. There wasn't any water in the fountain, and whatever had been in the flower beds wasn't alive anymore.

The front door opened. A distraught house elf – who wore what looked like a table runner – came out to greet her, waving its thin arms in the air. Tonks sighed. She didn't know if she had enough patience to deal with another one of them today.

The slight creature walked up to her in the dark. "Mistress Narcissa, Nimby was not informed that you would be visiting today. Nimby apologizes for not preparing a dinner, but Mistress Druela is not home, and Nimby did not think to-"

"No, you would never think, would you, Nimby?" Tonks rather hoped her aunt was as much of a bitch as her mother had always made her out to be. It was all she had to go on right now.

"Nimby apologizes, Mistress, but tonight is not a good time for you to be-"

Tonks shoved past the house elf. "Get out of my way. What I do is not your concern."

"Mistress, please-"

"Go occupy yourself with making me a nice pot of tea and some biscuits before I string you up by your ankles." The voice wasn't half bad, she decided. Nimby was responding to it well enough.

Tonks walked through the open front door. Nimby ran by, heading for what Tonks hoped was the kitchen, or anywhere so long as it wasn't with her. Her grandmother's absence was a damn nice stroke of luck and she wanted to take full advantage of the situation without having a house elf at her heels.

It took Tonks an hour to search the first floor. She walked through each room and went through the contents, looking for what, exactly, she didn't know, but her mother's family had been too entrenched in the dark arts and too involved with the Death Eaters to not have any skeletons in their ornate, oversized closets.

_There's got to be something in this damn manor._

The Ministry had searched the homes of accused Death Eaters after the war – she'd pulled those records, too, and seen photographs of heirlooms broken and scattered on marble floors, walls torn open to expose hidden rooms, and confiscated documents and magical items being taken away by Ministry employees. While they had been thorough regarding the residences of witches and wizards who were executed or taken to Azkaban for being accused Death Eaters, Ministry officials had not extended their house calls to those who were suspected, but never confirmed, to be involved with Voldemort's uprising – people like Druela and Cygnus Black. Resources had been too limited after the war to take things farther, especially after the Dark Lord was dead and the violence ended.

In other words, Raven Down had never been searched, and Tonks intended to leave with whatever secrets it had kept hidden from the rest of the magical world.

Tonks took the grand front staircase up to the second floor.

It didn't take her long to find a locked and enchanted set of double doors. She reached for the handles -

\- and was stopped by the wards.

Tonks smiled. She'd found a room that even her aunt was denied access to. It was promising.

She took out her wand and got to work.

The wards were complex, but not anything that she couldn't handle. When they fell, she grabbed the handles, and pulled the doors open.

_Merlin's white beard._

It was a tree; a massive holographic elm growing at the center of the room. Branches ignited with radiant magical energy created a dense canopy over Tonks' head, sending sapphire and emerald light across her altered body. The massive trunk was surrounded by a circular bench. A system of floating ladders and platforms extended up into the foliage that towered two stories into the air.

Tonks reached for the leaves above her head and realized each one was embossed with a name. If she held it long enough, a face appeared.

_It's a damn literal family tree._

Had her mother known about this? If she did, she had never mentioned it. But what good would it do her? If Tonks wanted to see the incestuous lineage of her pure-blood ancestors, all she had to do was go back to the record department at The Ministry.

_Then why keep it so well guarded?_

Tonks walked beneath the tree - looking up and not paying attention - and _shit_ tripped into the bench surrounding the trunk, bashing her nose - Narcissa Malfoy's nose - on the rough top surface.

She recovered, got back to her feet, and grabbed her hurting face. Blood ran between her fingers and dripped onto the floor.

Something flashed on the marble.

Another drop of her blood fell, and ignited a pattern of twisted, dark lines.

_Of course._

_Blood magic._

Tonks knew absolutely nothing about blood magic, but she wasn't going to let that stop her. She pulled her hand away from her bleeding nose, knelt down, and wiped it across the floor at her feet. A nest of tangled lines raced across the tiles.

Pinpricks of light came from the spreading network, entwining itself with the base of the tree to form a complex root system. She'd seen something similar in Bones' office over the summer; the map that was used to locate underage witches and wizards.

But what was this network showing her? She recognized the outlines of the United Kingdom - of France - of most of Eastern Europe.

Tonks raised her wand and muttered revealing spells until words flashed next to the closest pinprick of light.

It wasn't a name. It was an address.

The map was showing her locations.

_Of what? What are these places?_

Tonks intended to find out.


	140. Had & Plotted

**October 1991**

Vials filled with tainted memories sat on the desk between Alastor Moody and Amelia Bones; fifteen distorted recollections he had extracted from his own head. The viscous strands clung together like paste – a clear indication that they had been tampered with.

Bones picked up the one labeled _June 1980_ and turned it sideways, watching the dense contents stick to the glass. It was the earliest altered memory Moody had found; the day he'd met Juliet.

With five days left until the end of her sixth year, Juliet was locked inside a storage closet at the Three Broomsticks for attacking a young wizard on the road between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade. The townies who had pulled her off of the boy told Moody that she had placed him under some type of trance using dark magic and screamed at them as they dragged her to the inn, yelling that she'd gone after her schoolmate because he was a Death Eater. Moody arrived a few hours later to question her about the incident and her accusations. Juliet – young, frustrated, and bleeding from a gash on her forehead that she'd sustained from her tangle with the good people of Hogsmeade – had shown him what she could do, and told him everything she had seen in the young man's head.

By the time she convinced him that the boy was in the service of the Dark Lord, Barty Crouch Junior was nowhere to be found.

It had taken Moody the better part of the last month to go through his memories. He had reviewed his first encounter with Juliet two weeks ago and realized that the details had been left intact, but a critical insertion had been made to modify the event.

Cassio stood in the storage closet doorway behind Moody and Juliet, like he had always been there, playing the part of the supportive brother. It had taken Moody longer than it should have – and more Scotch than he thought would have been necessary - to get it through his head that Cassio had never been in the Three Broomsticks that day; Cassio didn't exist; his mind had been fucked with.

_And Dumbledore was right._

Moody had searched Juliet's flat for information concerning her non-existent twin and found a piece of lined paper taped to one of her kitchen cabinets. It had the name _Cass_ underlined in black ink above an address and a unit number in West Hampstead. Moody contacted the landlord – a slender old man with a limp and a large keyring – who seemed to have forgotten that the flat existed, even as they stood in the living room. Cassio – whoever he was – had spent at least a portion of his time there, but not recently. It was deserted. Moody doubted there had ever been much there, probably just enough to keep up a façade of his existence for Juliet's sake.

Hours after he had found the bloodbath and the shattered mirror portal in Juliet's flat, Moody had gone to The Ministry – distraught and breaking down – and yanked open the door of the converted storage closet Cassio had used as an office. At the time, he didn't realize the room was no longer warded; his only goal was to use the trace. It tracked Juliet – Cassio had been the one to show him that. He could use it to find her.

But the closet was empty. The desk, maps, and stacks of documents that Moody had seen during his last visit to the narrow room – the components of the trace and the registry – were gone. Despite what Bones had told _The Daily Prophet_ , muggle-born outcry wasn't the reason they had discontinued the use of the trace and the registry. They had lost it.

Moody should have known then. But Cassio had embedded himself too far into his psyche. Instead, he thought the killers must have targeted Cassio when they went after Aaron and Juliet; that they had found a way to get into the Auror office undetected – had likely ambushed Cassio there – and filched the entire goddamn trace and registry in the process.

Now, Moody knew the truth. Cassio had cleaned house, in more ways than one.

Bones set the vial back on her desk. "I pulled the sealed Auror personnel files. There are no records for Cassio Walker; no recruitment notes; no character or aptitude test results; no medical records or family history; no background check documentation; not so much as a folder; no evidence, in other words, that he ever existed apart from the proxy who infiltrated our office."

"And our fucking heads," Moody said.

"I'm afraid we have been had," Bones said, "in every sense of the word."

She raised her wand and waved it in a beckoning motion. The cabinet behind her desk opened and a bottle of Scotch whiskey floated toward them. Bones grabbed it, took two glasses out of her desk, and filled them both to the rims. 

She handed one to Moody, drank until a third of hers was gone, and looked back at him. "Do you think Juliet and Aaron are still alive?"

"The fact that we haven't found their bodies hanging in the middle of this department with severed necks is telling. This fuck, Cassio, for lack of a better name, and whoever he is working with – be it the killers or the apparent remnants of the goddamn Death Eaters – targeted them. If it was only for revenge for their involvement with the muggle-born killings, or if Aaron and Juliet were getting too close to ending this reign of violence for the comfort of these murdering bastards, then I would have expected them to have killed them publicly or left them somewhere for us to find, especially after what happened on Valentine's Day. Despite finding Aaron's blood painting a few dozen meters of the graveyard in Godric's Hollow, I think they're both alive, and I will until we find corpses that prove otherwise."

"As much as I want to believe that, we've never had any evidence that these sociopaths take prisoners, Alastor. Why would they start with Juliet and Aaron? If they want to use them as leverage or bait, they haven't indicated any such intentions to us. Cassio was so entrenched in this office that it isn't likely there is anything we know that he doesn't. He was clearly no longer motivated to maintain his masquerade. And he has the muggle-born trace and the registry - everything him and his ilk need to continue killing at will. Why keep Juliet and Aaron alive?"

Moody took a drink. "Because of what they can do."

Bones considered this. "Assuming they could force her to do anything - which I very much doubt - do you think they would keep Juliet alive just so she could walk through people's minds? Is it so different from what Cassio can do that he would attempt to use her for it?"

"I think it's unique enough that he's going to try." Moody had to take another drink. "And I think he'll do the same thing with Aaron."

"Who can apparate past wards." Bones sat back in her chair and finished her whiskey. She poured herself more. "Merlin's beard. He hasn't finished his damn training. They will break through whatever mental defenses you've taught him and-"

She stopped. "We'll have to find a way to alter the casting of the guardian enchantments so we can safeguard-"

"There isn't a ward in existence that will stop what Aaron can do."

Moody downed the contents of his glass. He was too familiar with the processes the killers – the Death Eaters – would have to use in order to break Aaron enough to use him for their own ends.

 _Unless he's already one of them._ The thought startled Moody. He never should have viewed the contents of the vial he had gotten from Dumbledore. 

The distorted recordings of the woman who had been driven insane by Druella Black – Aaron's mother – had left Moody shaken. He hadn't been able to watch – to listen to – all of the memory at once. He'd pulled his head out of the pensieve three or four times to get away from the agony in the woman's voice, and the knowledge that Aaron had watched the same memory. He had heard his mother scream for them to kill her; to tell her where her son was so her mentally compromised body could try to kill him again.

Moody didn't know how long he'd stayed on the floor by the basin after he'd gotten to the end. 

_Aaron didn't know. He never could have known._

_The Blacks didn't even know he was alive. They would have killed him if they did._

He'd taken the newspaper from Dumbledore's office. The flickering image of Lestrange _was_ Aaron, aged ten years.

_I should have known. I should have seen it._

_No_

_He isn't Lestrange. He's my fucking kid, and fuck me for thinking otherwise._

Bones poured him a second glass of whiskey. "If we are going to continue to defend against an onslaught of violent attacks – and there is now the potential for those attacks to happen anywhere, regardless of our attempted defenses – I am going to ask Parkinson to return full-time, and I've sent word to Kingsley. He's been gone too long and we need more boots on the ground. Muggle-borns are still dying, and you and I must prepare for next week's trials."

_KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK_

Tonks waved at them from the other side of Bones' office windows.

Amelia motioned for her to come inside.

Tonks opened the door. "Oi, bad time, is it?"

"Yes," Moody said, taking a drink. "Though it isn't like we've had a whole fuck of a lot of good times for you to interrupt."

"Well," Tonks said, "interrupting is the only communication option you've left me with, seeing as you don't respond any other way, so here I am."

Bones raised an eye at Moody. It was deserved. He'd been doing a shit job of training Tonks. He needed to hand her off to someone else – or convince her to quit - before he got her involved in something that would destroy her life.

Tonks walked around him and spread six sheets of parchment across Bones' desk. A network of tangled lines covered each one, filled with hundreds of hand-drawn boxes. Some of the boxes had been crossed out – violently, with frustration, it seemed - while others had been circled with red ink. Any space that wasn't occupied by lines or boxes was filled with what Moody assumed was Tonks' handwriting.

Moody set down his glass. "What is this?"

"A map."

"I can see that," he said, "of what?"

"If you had bothered to read my application-"

Moody had, actually, read her entire application four times. He still had copies of her character and aptitude test results in the top drawer of his nightstand. He had wanted to train her the proper way, before everything had gone to shit.

"-you'd know that most of my extended family were Death Eaters, or at least sympathetic enough to support Voldemort's plight. I decided to see if there was anything you lot had missed, and paid a visit to two of my family homes."

"You shouldn't have done that," Moody said. "If you suspected that they had information, we could have gotten a damn warrant."

"To search a deserted house and a manor my grandparents live in?"

"You shouldn't have been out doing Auror work on your own."

"It was family work, not Auror work, and I came away fine."

Moody kept his arms folded across his chest.

"Sorry, look, no one saw me," Tonks said. "I might not have found this otherwise, and it's brilliant."

Moody looked back at the hand-drawn map. "Explain what I'm looking at."

"I wasn't sure at first," Tonks said, "all of this was hidden in tangles when I found it, so I copied it all down and got it back here where I could make sense of it. See the boxes? Each one represents a location. On the real map, some of the locations had addresses. Others just had vague descriptions, so I haven't worked them out yet, but I think I got the rest sorted."

She pointed to a box scribbled through with black ink. "This was a house you lot burned down during the war, after you found it infested with Death Eaters. There are about nine I've crossed out like this – all places from Ministry records that no longer exist. Like this one – an old Death Eater friendly pub – it's a parking lot now."

"Then there's the ones I've circled in red," she said, pointing to a box with an address in Spain. "These places still exist, according to Ministry records. They're all places where Death Eaters were found meeting or holding up during the war, or in the months after." There were twelve or so of them.

"And the rest?" Bones asked.

Moody had already worked it out. "They're locations we have no record of; Death Eater meeting places and strongholds that we never knew existed."

There were hundreds of them.

"I imagine this map is a bit outdated seeing as it was probably last used during the war. I don't think it gets updates," Tonks said, "but if the killers have Death Eater connections – and if the Death Eaters are trying to have a resurgence – I thought they might try to go back to places they thought were still safe. I thought they might try taking Aaron to places like this, if they've got him."

For an awful moment, Tonks thought Bones and Moody would laugh her out of the office. 

Instead, Moody said, "Good fucking work."

"Excuse me?"

"You've mapped what looks like most of the goddamn places we never found during the war; places we suspected existed but couldn't locate because they were protected by blood wards and Fidelius Charms. We tortured Death Eaters, trying to find secret keepers. We don't need secret keepers if we've got a map of all the damn locations that are otherwise unplottable."

Moody took out his wand, levitated Tonks' parchments into the air, and fused the edges together with a binding charm.

"If they are returning to these locations, they won't see us coming." He smiled at Tonks. It was a chance; a brilliant chance.


	141. Reckoning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, all, for the delay! This chapter took awhile to finish and work has been trying to kill me.
> 
> I'm also going to add a trigger warning for descriptions of protest violence/police brutality, similar to Chapters 121 - 123.

**October 1991**

At first, the only concerns Cornelius Fudge had on the morning of the fourteenth involved the shattered butter dish laying on the floor by the table and an unopened letter sitting next to his plate of ham and eggs. The former was a bit more startling, if he was honest. Lingering broken dishware wasn't common in the townhouse he shared with his wife. Not that Bridget seemed bothered by it. She sat in her usual chair by the window, sipping her tea and reading _The Daily Prophet_ like nothing had happened, even as shards of ceramic protruded from the yellow lump of fat stuck to the porcelain tiles.

Fudge walked across the kitchen and stood over the remains of what had been a wedding gift from his distant cousin. "What's all this?"

Bridget didn't look up from the newspaper. "Hmm?"

"This mess. Did you drop the butter dish?"

"Oh, that."

"Yes, _this_. What happened? Was it an accident?"

"No, Cornelius, it was quite intentional."

". . . Excuse me?"

She still didn't look at him. "The damn thing was in my way when I reached for the pepper, so I decided to shove it off the table."

"You what?"

"I shoved it off the table."

Fudge stared at his wife. "Have you gone mental?"

Bridget folded the newspaper and tossed it on his side of the table. The front page headline flickered. _MUGGLE-BORN INSURGENCE TRIALS SET TO COMMENCE AT NOON_.

She smiled at him over the top of her mug. "I thought you would understand, dear. You know what it's like to have something unwanted in your way and have to use more force than necessary to dispose of it."

Fudge grabbed _The Daily Prophet_ and glared at his wife. "I will not have this conversation again."

He ripped the pages apart until there weren't any legible portions of that morning's edition left, swearing under his breath while torn pieces of ink-covered parchment drifted to the floor.

_The audacity of her. She wasn't there; wasn't even involved. She didn't see the way they desecrated the lobby and threatened to overtake The Ministry._

Bridget took another sip of tea and watched her husband add to the mess growing between them.

_I did what was necessary._

_I stopped that damn riot before it became full-on anarchy._

_One of them tried to kill me for Godric's sake. Think she would give more of a toss about that._

He snatched up the letter by his plate and tore open the seal. He recognized the handwriting at once.

_Cornelius,_

_My friend, I agree that you are in dire need of guidance regarding the situations that have come about as a result of the disastrous events of the twenty-first of June; however, I cannot be expected to drop everything and meet you in-person every time you encounter a hardship while serving as Minister for Magic. This is especially true for hardships that have been made worse by your own actions. I warned you of the ramifications that could occur should you continue to ignore the plight of muggle-borns. I fear you have still not learned anything from the failures of your predecessor._

_It seems you have also forgotten what we found in the dungeon on that bleak April day so long ago; the violence, pain, and fear that threatened to overwhelm us both as we stood beneath the decapitated remains of four muggle-borns. You have been able to distance yourself from those feelings, but the muggle-borns have not been so lucky. They have spent six years living in fear, watching The Ministry erode their autonomy. If you want circumstances to change for the better - if you truly want unity in our world - you must stop hiding, attend the trials, and confess your crimes. You must embrace whatever consequences are coming your way, as they will be most necessary to heal our fractured world. If you do not present yourself willingly, you will spend the remainder of your term - if you are not ousted from your position entirely - avoiding the public eye, being whispered about in most circles, and you will find a growing number of muggle-borns standing in the lobby wielding knives to hold against your throat._

_Should you still wish to talk face to face, I will be attending the trials. We can speak after today's proceedings. As I, for one, do not plan on missing what should prove to be a most historic week._

_I sincerely hope to see you standing before the Wizengamot in your finest robes._

_Best regards,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

Fudge swore, ripped the letter in half, and tossed it on the floor with the rest of the morning's debris.

 _Arrogant bastard._ _Should have left him in Azkaban for another few months._

This wasn't what he had envisioned for Dumbledore's return.

_He could at least pretend to be on my side after all I've done for him._

Fudge took out his wand and stood over the pile of torn parchment and broken pieces of indigo-colored ceramic, trying to remember a decent cleaning charm that wouldn't smear the deformed glob of butter across the floor. They never should have dismissed the house elves, but he hadn't gotten much of a say in the matter, not after he'd tried to tell Bridget that the obedient little creatures enjoyed cleaning, cooking, and mending.

"It's not modern-day slavery. Where did you ever get that idea? Serving us is just what they were meant to do. It's what they've always done."

She'd been furious with him.

"It is slavery, Cornelius! And they hate it."

"You don't know that."

"I do. I've spent a lot of time reading up on the subject and asking them how they feel about it."

"You talked about this with our house elves?"

"Of course, I did," Bridget told him. "Who better to ask? Once I got them comfortable enough to speak with me honestly, they just about broke down, poor things. They hate living like this."

"Oh, rubbish. They've never been anything but happy here with us. Besides, even if we did let them go, they'd never manage out there on their own."

"That's not how they feel." She reached for a drawer. "I'm setting them free."

"Bridget, love, wait a minute-"

"I am setting them free, Cornelius."

With that, she had pulled three silk garments out of her dresser at random and given them to the slight creatures who had spent the last century serving their respective families. The house elves had cheered - _c_ _heered_ \- and ran down the halls celebrating, waving his wife's frillies over their heads.

Bridget had loved it. She had laughed, hugged them, and given each house elf a satchel full of supplies and pouches of Galleons as they ran out the front door, disappearing before any muggles saw them or their masters decided to take them back.

Fudge looked at his wife - who had summoned the pot and poured herself more tea - as the mess on the floor began to sort itself out; as the remains of _The Daily Prophet_ and Dumbledore's correspondence dissolved into the air around him, and the butter dish fused itself back into one solid piece.

He asked, "Whatever made you turn into such a crusader?"

Bridget added a spoonful of milk to her mug and stirred. "When you accepted your role as the leader of magical Britain, I decided it was time I became more well-informed so I wouldn't be lost whenever you discussed the issues plaguing our world. I suppose I should have shared some of my findings."

She was beautiful; stubborn and gorgeous. He hated it when they fought. He needed her too damn much right now.

Fudge picked up the butter dish and set it on the table. "You want me to attend the trials, and tell them what happened with the gas."

She took his hand. "I want you to tell them all of it. Change takes courage, and it means we have to do things that make us uncomfortable."

"I know that, love." He squeezed her hand. "But they might leave me rotting behind bars for what I've done."

"So, it is true." She looked sad. "Oh, Cornelius."

_KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK_

The pounding on the front door startled both of them.

Bridget stood up. 

_KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK_

Fudge left the kitchen with his wand clutched in his hand. His wife followed him to the foyer.

When they got to the entryway, Fudge looked through the peephole.

Alastor Moody stood on the front steps.

Fudge jumped back from the door as though it had burned him. His first instinct was to grab Bridget and apparate - to run.

But he knew it wouldn't do him any good.

Fudge resigned himself to the consequences of his actions, and opened the front door.

"I assume this isn't a social call, Alastor?"

"You know good and well it's not," Moody said. He reached into his coat, pulled out a folded piece of parchment, and handed it to Fudge.

Fudge opened the summons. It didn't take him long to read it. The gist seemed to be that if he didn't go with Alastor Moody of his own free will, the Auror had full permission to do whatever was necessary to ensure that he was available to testify before the Wizengamot about what had taken place during the uprising.

Moody kept his blue eye on Fudge's wand. "Are you going to make me incapacitate you on your damn front lawn?"

Fudge handed his wand to Bridget and kissed her forehead.

"I'll be right behind you," she assured him.

He squeezed her hand and faced Moody. "There will be no need for that, Alastor. Shall we use my fireplace?"

* * *

If the Ministry of Magic had tried to prepare for the massive onslaught of people who arrived on the first day of the trials – perhaps by limiting the number of available guest passes or telling non-essential employees to stay home – it didn't show. Thousands of witches and wizards had gathered in the arrivals lobby atrium; dense crowds packed so close together that it was no longer possible to see the marble floor. The main thoroughfare was a congested mass of bodies, heaving against one another beneath the tiled archways. Eni held onto Lee's arm and stayed behind her as they pushed forward.

"Shit," Lee said, stopping long enough to stand on her toes and have a look around, "we'll never get downstairs at this rate."

A wizard elbowed Eni hard in the shoulder as he maneuvered past them – and didn't apologize. They were jammed in so tight it didn't seem to matter.

Lee noticed though. "All right back there?"

"I'm fine."

"Right, well," Lee said, "I don't think we're going to get much farther."

They didn't. After another five minutes of awkward shuffling, everyone around them stopped moving. Eni – as usual – couldn't see much, but it seemed like they were trapped in a gridlock. She kept her face close to Lee's back and tried not to feel claustrophobic as strangers pressed in against them.

"We're stuck a few meters back from the lifts," Lee told her. "They don't seem to be operating anymore. This is absolutely mental. There weren't anywhere near this many people at the protest. It's like the whole bloody magical world finally decided to take an interest in our affairs."

An amplified voice filled the lobby, coming from somewhere behind them. "The Wizengamot dungeon has reached – and exceeded – capacity! No one else will be allowed to make their way down, unless you can provide proof that you are either a direct relation of one of the seven detained muggle-borns, or of one of the security agents who were involved in the events of the twenty-first of June."

Eni recognized the voice. It was the woman from the information desk; the one who had told all of them to disperse four months ago.

 _Has it been that long?_ The thought made Eni sick. She couldn't be standing far from where Aaron had lifted her off the floor and gotten her away from the tear gas.

When Lee found Eni crying alone in the back room of the bakery three weeks ago – surrounded by trays of uncooked dough – she had brought up the idea of a memorial service. Eni had screamed at her – called her insensitive and accused her of giving up – she had been awful - until Lee grabbed her coat and left without saying anything. It had taken Eni almost the entire two hours Lee had spent walking around Liverpool to realize the suggestion had come from a good place; Lee wanted her to have closure. Eni just wasn't ready to hear it, or confront the fact that she might never see Aaron again; that they might never know what had happened to him.

She still felt terrible about the fight.

"Everyone else is invited to wait – peacefully – in the lobby while the proceedings are underway. I would also like to suggest the idea of returning to the comfort of your own homes or businesses, as the remainder of our departments need to continue functioning as normal, and they will not be able to do so with such . . . limited access."

The woman couldn't tell everyone to leave, Eni realized. That approach hadn't worked out so well for the Ministry last time, and this crowd had reached much more dangerous proportions.

"Tomorrow, admittance to the Ministry will be limited to those who can provide a _certified_ guest pass, and to those who have been invited to give their testimonies by a standing member of the Wizengamot."

Lee groaned. "Sorry, Eni. Looks like we're stuck up here. Want to shove our way back toward the fireplaces and find a better place to stand?"

Eni didn't want to wait around the arrivals lobby all day to find out what had taken place in the dungeon, but she wasn't sure what else to do short of starting another revolt. "Might as well. I don't see what other choice we've got."

"We can find a security agent and tell them you're the one who blew up the Ministry. They'll take you before the Wizengamot for sure that way."

Eni was considering this option when she was engulfed by a pair of arms and pulled into an aggressive hug.

"Wotcher, Eni!" Tonks squeezed her tight. "I knew I'd find you both in the middle of this mess if I kept looking! Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

Eni smiled and held onto Tonks. "We didn't want to bother you, you damn Auror."

Tonks laughed and reached past her to hug Lee. "Oi, I'm not much of one yet."

"Your wardrobe begs to differ," Lee said, embracing her.

Tonks wore a dark battle cloak lined with enchanted layers of crimson fabric. "Bones made all of us wear these bloody things for the trials. Wanted us to be prepared in case things go south. Do I look as daft as I feel?"

"You look brilliant," Eni told her. "Are you . . . how are you holding up?"

They hadn't talked much since Tonks had told her about the blood in Godric's Hollow.

"I'm not, to be honest," Tonks said. "You?"

"Rather miserable," Eni said.

"Have you heard from Charlie? He stopped responding to my letters."

"He hasn't written me back since August." Eni tried to keep her voice level. "I don't know what else we can do."

Tonks reached for her hand and held her close. "We'll find him. Want to get out of this crowd?"

"That would be lovely," Lee said, "but we weren't planning on leaving."

"Didn't think so," Tonks said, managing a grin, "let's abuse my new privileges."

* * *

The stone corridor that led to the main dungeon was almost as crowded as the atrium. Eni tried not to walk into anyone as she followed Lee and Tonks through the commotion, stepping around scattered groups of witches and wizards who glared at them and made rude comments - _"Mudbloods, I bet. Trying to see what they're in for."_ \- _"Or worse. Look at her ears."_ \- as they shouldered past. Most of them refused to move out of the way, even for an Auror. The traditional garments they wore - pointed hats adorned with dragon scales and fur-lined robes - told Eni everything she needed to know.

None of these people were muggle-born.

"It's total shit," Tonks had told them a few minutes earlier, as they descended a stairwell with restricted access. "The protestors should have been given priority. That's what Bones wanted, so you lot could witness the proceedings and hold our delightful representatives accountable. Instead, The Ministry decided to interfere and invite a bunch of well-connected twats to watch the Wizengamot operate. None of the people downstairs give a toss about muggle-borns, or the outcome of the trials."

 _No, they don't_ , Eni realized as she walked amongst them. _They're just here so we can't be; to keep us silent and shut us out._

Tonks looked over her shoulder to make sure the other young women were still behind her and guided them toward an elaborate archway at the end of the corridor; the entrance to the dungeon. Bare hinges hung from the stonework. For the sake of transparency, and to encourage witnesses to come forward, Madam Amelia Bones had removed the massive oak doors and cordoned off the back portion of the chamber. Exposing the inner workings of the magical council in such a way wasn't unheard of, but such occurrences were not common. Outsiders hadn't been allowed to directly observe the Wizengamot since 1982, when the last suspected Death Eaters had been on trial.

Eni tried not to look nervous as they walked inside.

It was crowded, but they found a place to stand at the back of the room, near the flickering barrier that separated the guests from the formal court. Eni had only ever seen most of the witches and wizards who occupied the elevated benches that surrounded them in _The Daily Prophet_ and textbooks. Dumbledore was the obvious exception. Her former headmaster sat a few rows back from the podium, speaking with Barty Crouch Senior. Eni hadn't expected to see Minister Fudge, but he was there, too, seated on the far right next to an exhausted looking Alastor Moody.

The lowest benches on the left had been reserved for the families of the muggle-borns who were about to stand trial. Most of them wore muggle clothes and looked as out of place as Eni and Lee did.

An older woman behind Eni asked, "Where's the cage? I thought there was a cage in here last time."

"You're thinking of Courtroom Ten, down the hall," came the reply from a wizard who wasn't any younger. "They only use the cage for hard criminals; murderers, Death Eaters, and the like."

"It's a bit barbaric that it's still used at all," a different woman said.

"I suppose disintegrating people while they are strapped to a chair is as well," the man said, "but that's just the way of things."

As much as Eni would have loved to hear more of this lovely conversation, it wasn't meant to be. Madam Amelia Bones left her bench and walked up to the podium. She didn't waste any time. "Let's get started, shall we?"

The dungeon went quiet, but a cacophony of voices and laughter still came from the corridor.

Bones – who was already annoyed with the intrusive presence of the pure-bloods standing outside - leaned against the podium and motioned toward one of the scribes. "Tell them we've started and hush them the hell up before I cast the silencing charm over the entirety of the lower levels."

The scribe ran out into the hallway like her wand was on fire. 

When the noise ceased, Madam Bones addressed her audience. "Many words have been used to describe the events of the twenty-first of June. Protest. Uprising. Outcry. Disaster. Chaos. Embarrassment. Revolution. I don't care which terms you've chosen to employ in your private lives; this is no longer about you. We are gathered here because of the storm of fear, frustration, bigotry, and dissent that has boiled beneath the surface of our world for as long as we have maintained records; the destructive idea that we are all so very different from one another."

Lee stood with her arms at her sides. Eni reached for her hand and held it tight.

Madam Bones continued, "The very existence of magic has long created a rift between us and the rest of humanity, and the sins of the past are not limited to one side. Our kind have not always had the means – or the unity – to defend ourselves against those who wished to use and harm us for the power we wielded. We were hunted down, held against our will, and killed because of what we could do. I'm afraid the pain of our ancestors festered until it became hate for those who attempted to destroy us, and for their magically-gifted children. It festered until a cult of sociopaths decided to open the throats of – and this is the correct number - three-hundred and sixty-eight people."

Gasps and shocked expressions spread through the chamber. No one except the Aurors had known the full extent of the body count.

Eni felt sick. She wished she wasn't standing.

"I say all of this to remind you that the twenty-first of June was not a sudden act of rebellion, but the result of years of frustration and fear that we have inflicted on our brothers and sisters. We met their cries for equality with an act meant to control them, a corrupt spell designed to track their movements, and a registry that – despite our claims - did not prevent them from dying."

Madam Bones paused as more people from the corridor shuffled into the room.

"As we bring in the accused and hear their testimonies – horrific accounts of the protest and subsequent confrontation – I ask that all present remain civil and respectful. Inappropriate comments or slurs will get you removed from my courtroom. All of the statements you are about to hear have been verified as true and accurate after an extensive memory review, conducted by the Aurors. These people have suffered at our hands."

"However, I am not here to act as judge and jury." Madam Bones faced the rest of the members of the Wizengamot. "Our usual process will remain unchanged. We will listen to the testimonies and the accounts of those who were involved with the events of the twenty-first of June, and we will vote on how we are to proceed. I cannot sway any of you in your judgements, but keep in mind that we have been given the chance to enact change, here and now, and prove to those we have marginalized that we will no longer ignore them. I encourage all of you to take it."

Madam Bones nodded to a security agent who stood at the back of the room. He stepped out into the corridor.

A moment later, seven people bound in iron shackles were led into the dungeon, escorted by security agents who held raised wands. The first defendant – a woman a few years older than Eni – was directed to the center of the room, while the others were guided to an empty bench near the podium.

Madam Bones turned toward the young woman. "Please state your name for the court."

"Emily Brown."

"Miss Brown, please recount the events of the twenty-first of June, as you remember them, starting just after six o'clock in the evening."

"I was standing with my brother in the crowds near the entrance to the South Wing when the chanting started. We weren't sure what was happening at first. We had planned on heading home because of the curfew, but then everyone around us began to yell that they weren't leaving. It was . . . rather powerful to see all of us come together like that. So, we stayed."

"When the security agents came at us with their wands raised," Emily continued, "a wizard standing next to us cast a shield. It held while the agents assaulted us. My brother and I-"

A short and rather plump witch sitting to the left of the podium made a rude _humph_ sound. Madam Bones glared at her. "Dolores, if you can't refrain from making noises like a contemptuous child, please see yourself out."

Madam Bones turned back to the woman in shackles. "Please continue, Miss Brown."

Emily stared at Umbridge and said, "My brother and I never even took out our wands. We didn't want anyone to get hurt, but the Ministry's security agents seemed determined to teach all of us a lesson."

Discordant voices – _"She's a damn liar."_ \- _"I bet all of their memories were altered."_ – _"After all we've done for them, they can't even admit they incited a revolt."_ – _"I know they taunted our security agents."_ – _"Should have sent all of them straight to Azkaban. They don't deserve a fair trial."_ – _"I wouldn't be surprised if they released the tear gas themselves."_ \- came from the crowd gathered around Eni.

"Quiet," Madam Bones ordered. "The defendant is still speaking."

"After the explosion," Emily continued, "we held our position for as long as we could – until we were engulfed by the tear gas. I lost my brother in the ensuing madness as we ran for the fireplaces. I was screaming for him when I was hit with a spell that knocked me to the floor. A security agent shoved his knee into my back and kept me pinned as the tear gas burned my chest, stomach, and neck. I wasn't alone. Another protestor – a man with a red shirt – was being held down by two security agents a few meters from where I laid choking. He screamed, too, at first." 

She wiped her eyes. "By the time the agent holding me yanked me to my feet, I realized the man with the red shirt had stopped moving. The agents left his limp body on the floor and took me away. He was killed at their hands."

"Lies, all of it!" a wizard behind Eni screamed. "There was no tear gas." 

"Order!" Madam Bones yelled.

"The Ministry would never stoop to using a _muggle_ weapon, you lying mudblood-"

"Escort him out of my courtroom!"

Emily turned around and raised her shirt high enough to reveal the scar tissue that covered her stomach. She faced the wizard as he was dragged out of the crowd. "How I wish that were true."

* * *

Eni stood on the sidewalk in front of _No Pint Left Unturned_ two days later with a cigarette between her lips, waiting for Lee to return with coffee. She inhaled the last of the fag, flicked the end on the stained concrete, and crushed it under her heel as she reached for her pack and tapped out another one. It had been a long time since she'd chain smoked like this. The trials had gotten to her.

After Emily Brown finished speaking - and the disruptive wizard who had yelled at her was escorted out of the dungeon and back to the atrium - the remainder of the muggle-borns had stood at the center of the chamber, one after the other, and given their testimonies. Eni thought their personal accounts of Ministry led violence would have gotten more sympathy from the witches and wizards who stood behind the barrier with her, but each defendant's speech had only incited more outrage. When the security agents were asked to recount the events from their perspective - insisting that they had acted in the best interests of The Ministry and the protestors - a few members of the Wizengamot had nodded their heads in agreement.

_What happened to us doesn't matter. It's still not enough._

_Lara was right._

Eni inhaled and watched people walk past her and the battered red telephone box, oblivious to the world that existed beneath their feet.

_We have been threatened, beaten, gassed, and killed, and it's still not enough._

Lee walked toward her, carrying two Styrofoam cups. Tonks would be along soon to escort them to the dungeon.

Eni took a few more pulls on her cigarette and tried to convince herself not to run and leave it all behind.

* * *

Cornelius Fudge sat a few rows back from the podium, watching the dense crowd of observers file into the chamber and looking for his wife. Bridget had been asleep when he left that morning. He'd kissed her on the forehead and wondered if she would still want him in her bed – if she would still want to spend her life with him – after the trials concluded.

Bridget still wasn't there when Amelia stepped up to the podium.

"Quiet down," she said, facing the room. "Let's begin."

It took another moment for the din of voices to cease.

"There has been a lot of speculation concerning the methods that were used to encourage the protestors to disperse. Even after hearing the defendants' testimonies and the affirmative responses from the security agents when they were asked if they were provided with – and told to adorn – gas masks, many of those who were not present on the twenty-first of June, and, it seems," Madam Bones looked at Dolores Umbridge, "even some who were, are still not convinced that tear gas was used against the protestors."

_Ah, there she is._

Bridget smiled at Fudge as she walked into the dungeon, stepping through the gathered mass of people at the back of the chamber until she found a place to stand near an Auror and two young women dressed in muggle attire.

"The official statements that have been released by the Office of the Minister directly conflict with the accounts of the defendants and the medical reports that the Auror Office has obtained from St. Mungo's. The symptoms and injuries suffered by the protestors are consistent with coming into contact with significant amounts of tear gas in an enclosed space; however, the Minister's office has continued to deny that tear gas – a chemical weapon created by the non-magical community – was used." Amelia Bones turned around and looked at Fudge. "Cornelius, I believe that it is time for you to set the record straight."

Everyone - his fellow council members, the guests at the back of the room, the families of the detained muggle-borns, and the convicted seven - stared at him. 

Fudge stood and approached the podium.

Amelia stopped him. "I think it would be more appropriate if you gave your account of events from the same place the other witnesses have. Please, Sir Minister, if you would, go stand down at the center of the room and tell us what happened on the twenty-first of June."

_She's enjoying this._

But he didn't protest. He turned away from her and walked down the steps to the main floor. 

When he stood at the center of the room, Amelia nodded at him - it was time to tell them all the truth.

"I have made many mistakes over the course of my career with The Ministry, both in my current role as Minister for Magic and in my previous positions. However, none of them – I now realize – have had as much of an impact on the lives of others as the mistake I made on the evening of the twenty-first of June."

He wished he could see Bridget, but he didn't dare turn his back on the Wizengamot.

"When I saw the chaos in the lobby," Fudge continued, "I blamed the protestors. I assumed my personnel – my security agents – were acting appropriately to prevent a confrontation from turning into an insurrection. I acted in anger and reacted without any concern for the marginalized people who were attempting to take a peaceful stand against all of the injustice that they have suffered."

Fudge faced the shackled muggle-borns. "I released the tear gas, knowing full well the effect it would have on all of you. I am the cause of your pain. I failed to serve you as Minister for Magic, and, in doing so, I failed our entire world."

* * *

Eni stood between Lee and Tonks, running her tongue over the scar on the inside of her bottom lip. She hadn't expected Cornelius Fudge to confess his crimes, or to admit that what he did was wrong. The convicted muggle-borns still looked as stunned as she was as he finished providing his testimony.

Madam Bones leaned over the edge of her podium. "Cornelius, you told me that you were in your office when the explosion occurred?"

"That is correct. Madam Umbridge and I were both in my office at the time of the explosion."

"So, you were not involved?"

"No, I was not."

"Are you aware of the cause of the explosion? Was it the protestors, or your own agents?"

 _Shit,_ Eni thought.

"I was informed, by one of my agents, that the explosion occurred when one of the protestors' shields detonated."

"A shield . . . detonated?"

"That is what I was told," Fudge said.

"Shield spells do not typically result in explosions."

"I am aware of that."

"Memory analysis revealed that your agents were assaulting – and attempting to penetrate – a spherical shield cast by-"

 _Fuck it_.

_This is my only chance to speak._

"By me," Eni said, as loud as she dared.

Madam Bones stared across the chamber. Minister Fudge turned around.

"You . . . blew up the atrium?" he asked, looking her up and down.

"Did you think it would be someone a bit taller?" Eni asked.

Madam Bones raised her wand and dissolved the portion of the barrier in front of Eni. "Step forward."

Tonks and Lee reached for her, but Eni walked into the center of the room before they could stop her. She'd never forgive herself if she didn't take advantage of the opportunity to address the Wizengamot.

"Please, state your name for the court," Madam Bones told her.

"Eni Iro."

"Miss Iro, were you the one who cast the spherical shield near the astronomical clock on the day of the protest?"

"I was, yes. I cast the shield when the security agents tried to force me to leave the atrium after the curfew started. I did it to protect myself and another protestor. I never meant for things to get violent."

"And your shield . . . exploded?"

"Not quite," Eni said. "I collected the magical energy the agents used to bore into my shield and re-directed it back at them."

"Resulting in an explosion."

"Yes," Eni said.

"Your explosion was the only direct attack made against the security agents. It caused extensive damage to The Ministry. It's a wonder no one was crushed beneath the falling debris."

"I know. I never meant-"

"Miss Iro," Madam Bones watched her, "why did you interrupt my court?"

"Madam?"

"Why did you decide to confess?"

"I didn't want anyone to get blamed for what I did. It's been weighing on me a bit. And . . . I wanted the chance to speak with you, because the person who should have been here to speak for muggle-borns died in Minister Fudge's office on the night of the protest."

Fudge – who stood close to her – asked, "You knew Lara Page?"

Eni could only nod.

"Were you aware of Page's intentions to threaten and assault Minister Fudge?"

"No one knew what Lara had planned," Eni said. "She was frustrated, like the rest of us, and desperate to get the attention of The Ministry. As you said, our kind have been dealt a rather bad hand. We have been registered, tracked, and slaughtered, even as we pleaded for autonomy and representation. All we want is the chance for a future in the world we so desperately want to be a part of."

Madam Bones addressed the rest of the room. "What do the rest of you think? Have they gotten our attention? Or, will it take another pile of bodies?"

The Wizengamot was silent.

"The memories that were extracted from the minds of the seven defendants and the security agents who were involved with the protest have been stored in the Auror Office. I am going to require every member of this council to review the recollections before they will be allowed to decide the fate of the convicted muggle-borns seated in front of me. We will also be voting on whether or not Minister Fudge should be allowed to complete his term, and what penalties he should face as a result of his unfortunate choice to use tear gas to force the end of a protest that was," Madam Bones looked at Eni, "mostly peaceful."

"I would like to add another item to the voting agenda, Amelia," Fudge said.

"And what would that be, Sir Minister?"

Fudge walked closer to the convicted muggle-borns. "We cannot repair all of the damage that has been done, but we can enact change. For too long, the muggle-born community has lacked – and asked us for – representation. It is time they had it."

Eni tried to hide her shock. Behind her, Lee gasped.

"We will also vote on whether or not to add two seats to the Wizengamot for muggle-born representatives," Fudge said. "It is time to trust ourselves to work together."

Outraged cries came from the back of the chamber. Security agents stepped forward to escort the enraged pure-bloods out of the dungeon.

Madam Bones ignored them and looked at Eni. "Thank you for coming forward, Miss Iro. You are excused."


	142. The Daily Prophet – 21 October, 1991

**_NOT GUILTY! ALL SEVEN PROTESTORS ACQUITED._**

_The muggle-born community is celebrating this morning after The Ministry of Magic released an official statement that the seven protestors who were arrested during June's insurgence will be released, and all charges will be dropped. The decision came after a week of deliberations in the main Wizengamot dungeon, wherein the defendants, security agents, and others who were involved in the destructive uprising stood before the court and provided their accounts of the events that resulted in the deaths of three people._

_The memories extracted from the protestors' minds were not made available for public review; however, the Auror Office confirmed that the details of each spoken testimony were true and accurate; the defendants did not act violently or harbor ill will against The Ministry. Six of the seven protestors stated that they did not so much as raise their wands during the revolt, while the seventh protestor declared that he had only used his to cast defensive spells in order to protect himself, and those around him, as the security agents encouraged the crowds to leave the atrium._

_The accounts of the defendants also, unfortunately, confirmed that they were subject to somewhat excessive physical violence while they were being arrested. It was also verified that two of the muggle-borns who lost their lives on the evening of the twenty-first died from the injuries they sustained while clashing with the Ministry's security personnel. After examining the evidence, the Wizengamot ruled that both deaths were accidental, and that the security agents involved will not be prosecuted. They were, however, asked not to return to work and assigned six months of service with various charitable organizations._

* * *

**_MINISTER FUDGE PLACED ON TEMPORARY PROBATION_ **

_The Wizengamot has voted to place Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, on temporary probation for his decision to release tear gas – a chemical weapon invented by the non-magical community – in the arrivals lobby atrium during the uprising on the evening of the twenty-first of June. While many muggle-borns believe that Minister Fudge should have been ousted from his position for endangering the lives of the protestors and causing further panic, he still has the support of many prominent members of the Wizengamot, who believe that he has learned his lesson and that forcing him to end his term now would only prove to be a great loss for magical Britain. Many also hold the opinion that Minister Fudge did what was necessary to prevent an even more catastrophic series of events from occurring and that his actions successfully ended the insurgence before any more lives were lost._

_As he left the dungeon on Friday afternoon, Minister Fudge announced that he will be spending the duration of his probation – which will last until the end of January - at home with his wife. The Daily Prophet wishes him all the best as he spends the next few months away from the public eye._

_For more information on tear gas – what it is, how muggles use it, and why it has suddenly shown up in our world - please refer to the article on Page Eight._

* * *

**_UNPRECEDENTED: WIZENGAMOT WILL ADD TWO SEATS FOR MUGGLE-BORNS_ **

_In an attempt to appease the muggle-born members of our society – who have long fought for and demanded equal representation – and in an effort to move on from the disastrous events of the twenty-first of June - the generous motion made by Minister Cornelius Fudge to add two seats to the Wizengamot has been approved. For the first time in recorded history, known muggle-borns will serve as members of the wizarding high court of law and parliament, participating in the governance of magical Britain. At this time, it is unknown who will be selected to hold these coveted positions, however, many muggle-borns are expected to come out of the woodwork and submit themselves as candidates._

_The decision was not unanimous. Almost half of the sitting members of the Wizengamot voted against the proposal and loudly voiced their concerns regarding working directly with muggle-borns as they exited the chamber yesterday evening. Their worries are not entirely unfounded. It is likely that the chosen candidates will be unknown figures in the magical community and will have no prior experience in leadership positions. Only time, it seems, will tell if this sudden change to our bureaucracy will have any positive outcomes._

_While it is unprecedented to have known muggle-born representatives here in magical Britain, such an arrangement is not unheard of in other European countries, or in The States. For example, the Assembly of Magic in Prague boasts a significant number of muggle-borns, with almost half of the current members claiming a non-magical heritage. France followed suit and incorporated a muggle-born led Council of Magic into its own Wizengamot in 1963. These arrangements seem to have, thankfully, resulted in much less strife when it comes to muggle-born affairs. If the muggle-born candidates chosen to serve our nation can prove themselves to be capable and effective individuals, our world may see similar results._

* * *

**_TEAR GAS: WHAT IS IT AND WHY IS IT IN OUR WORLD?_ **

_Even after Minister Fudge's confession that he released tear gas in an effort to stop the attempted muggle-born insurgence, the Office of the Minister has remained tight-lipped on the subject of tear gas and has refused to answer any further questions regarding the toxic substance. This is likely because the Minister's own staff members did not know what tear gas was until the twenty-first of June. The muggle-created substance is so unknown in the magical community, that when the escaping protestors started arriving at St. Mungo's, screaming in pain, the healers did not know what to make of their injuries, and had to experiment in order to determine the best methods of treatment._

_Thankfully, Auror Alastor Moody, who stood before the Wizengamot on Thursday to provide a consistent timeline of the events of the uprising, and a first-hand account of the horrors involved, generously agreed to sit down with The Daily Prophet and provide the magical world with answers._

_The Daily Prophet (DP): "Thank you for meeting with me. I know your time is valuable and you must be under a lot of stress with everything that has-"_

_Alastor Moody (Moody): "Let's skip to the part where you ask me the important questions."_

_DP: "Right then, of course. Would you please explain what tear gas is? Can you compare it to anything in the magical world?"_

_Moody: "Tear gas is an airborne chemical weapon invented by the non-magical community. The only thing we have that is similar is Garrotting Gas, and it would be very difficult to brew that in large enough quantities to use against crowds the way the tear gas was deployed during the protest."_

_DP: "Garrotting Gas is bad enough in small amounts. That certainly puts things into perspective. What do the muggles use tear gas for?"_

_Moody: "Warfare, mostly. They started experimenting with it after the turn of the century and used it during the first World War. It's also seen a lot of use as a crowd control tactic, like Fudge attempted, but even the muggles know better than to use the stuff in enclosed spaces like the damn atrium."_

_DP: "That creates more problems?"_

_Moody: "Go sit in a room filled with Garrotting Gas and poor ventilation and tell me how you feel afterwards."_

_DP: "Fair enough."_

_Moody: "You've got five minutes left."_

_DP: "Right, right, so, Garrotting Gas can cause suffocation. Does tear gas have similar effects?"_

_Moody: "One of the protestors died because they inhaled too much of it, so, yes. It can also cause long-term damage to the lungs and eyes, as I'm afraid many people in the atrium discovered a few weeks into their hospital stays. It makes it hard to breathe without choking, hard to see past the burning, and direct contact can leave the skin blistered."_

_DP: "Incredibly nasty stuff, no doubt. What should people do if they are exposed to it?"_

_Moody: "I hope we never have to deal with that damn substance again, but if people ever come into contact with it, get clear of it, take off your saturated clothes, and flush your eyes and nose with water. If you can't breathe, or have other bad symptoms, get to a healer. At least most of them know what to do now."_

_DP: "We definitely weren't prepared to deal with its effects. I heard from a few of the protestors at St. Mungo's that it even seeped past shields and similar charms. Is something like that possible?"_

_Moody: "Just because the Ministry got this stuff from the muggles doesn't mean it wasn't modified to bypass our defensive spells. I wouldn't be surprised if whoever brought it into our world played mad scientist until they knew it would be effective against witches and wizards."_

_DP: "Do you have any theories as to how it was brought into our world or how it wound up in-wait beneath the atrium floor?"_

_Moody: "There aren't any records and no one alive seems to know where it came from. Bagnold told Fudge about it after he became Minister for Magic. She passed on the information from her predecessor who never told anyone else a damn thing about it. But our Minister for Magic is always in close contact with the muggle Prime Minister. If that was the case during the first World War, I imagine Minister Evermonde made a few trades with Asquith or George, one of which involved giving the Ministry the recipe for tear gas. It wouldn't take much for a good potions master to brew it up."_

_DP: "That is . . . most concerning."_

_Moody: "Don't get out much, do you?"_

_DP: "I . . . thank you for your time, sir. I know our readers will appreciate this information."_

_Moody: "So long as they use it to make sure nothing like this ever happens again."_

_DP: "We can only hope."_


	143. In Tatters

**December 1991**

_"Children behave, that's what they say when we're together . . . "_

_"And watch how you playyyyy . . . "_

_"They don't understand, and so we're running just as fast as we can . . . "_

_"Holding onto one another's hands . . . "_

_"Trying to get away into the night and then you put your arms around me and we tumble to the ground and then you say-"_

Molly reached over and shut off the radio. Arthur stopped tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. He hadn't even realized that he was doing it again. She had asked him to stop three times since they'd left Devon.

"Sorry, love," Arthur said. "Didn't mean to annoy you. I'll keep the music off for a bit."

Molly didn't look up from her knitting. The sweater in her lap – adorned with a large _F_ – was almost finished. "I don't mind the music so much, Arthur, but that's the second time they've played that song and the chorus is a bit much right now."

"I didn't realize . . . I'll give it a rest all the same."

They sat in silence for the next few kilometers. The only noise came from the Anglia and a few passing cars as they drove down the far-left lane of the M5 motorway. They should have just used the Floo Network to get to Bristol, Arthur realized. Muriel had a functioning fireplace, same as they did, but he had hoped the drive would do them both some good. He couldn't remember the last time it had only been the two of them. Arthur had been looking forward to spending a few hours on the road alone with Molly, listening to the radio as they made their way along with nothing but each other for company.

He hadn't expected her to spend most of the two hour drive ignoring him.

Arthur glanced at Molly. If she noticed, she didn't make an effort to acknowledge him. She kept her eyes on her work, looping yarn over the ends of her needles.

Arthur re-focused his attention on the road and tried to think of something to say to his wife. It should be easy, but it wasn't.

_When did we stop talking?_

Their relationship hadn't been this strained a year ago, he was sure of it. They had spent the week before last Christmas decorating The Burrow; laughing together in the living room as they enchanted candles, preparing to celebrate the holidays with a full house. They'd teased each other while they wrapped gifts and stole private moments of affection in the kitchen when the kids weren't nearby. On the first day of the new year, they had stayed up far too late, laying on the end of their bed with their door locked and warded, sharing a bottle of mulled wine, slurring their words, and making plans for all the things they would do together after Ginny went off to Hogwarts.

Nothing could have prepared them for the months that followed. Their lives started to fall apart the evening Nicodemus Gaunt had shoved Arthur's office door open; when seventy-eight muggle-borns were slaughtered on Valentine's Day. The chaos and horror of that night proceeded to bleed into the rest of the winter. Arthur had spent the next three weeks sleeping on the floor in his office while he consulted with The Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, trying to mitigate the damage to the now-exposed non-magical community, who had watched Dark Marks fill the skies of Britain and come into contact with the dangerous remains of shattered mirror portals. Twelve muggles had died as a result of touching the volatile shards. That had never made it into _The Daily Prophet._

Arthur hadn't been able to go home long enough to support Molly, who had known two of the victims; healers she had worked with when she had interned at St. Mungo's before Bill was born. She'd gone to the funerals alone.

By the time Arthur had been able to spend his nights at home, Molly insisted that she was over it. She wasn't, he knew, but he hadn't wanted to make things worse. He already felt horrible about all of the extra hours he had spent at his desk when she needed him more. So, they didn't talk about the massacre, the lost friends, or the days spent apart. They took care of The Burrow and Ginny, and went to bed without saying goodnight to each other. 

It had gone on like that for months.

And then came June.

If it wasn't for what followed, they might have been able to recover from the fallout of the protest; people they knew had been involved, but none of them had sustained any serious injuries. The Ministry was in shambles, but Arthur could work from home until the damage to the second-floor was repaired. Molly even volunteered to help the families of those who had been arrested. She had setup a network of people who could provide meals and comfort until the fates of those being held by the Ministry were determined. Arthur had found her in the kitchen on the night of the twenty-seventh, baking meat pies and singing to herself as she summoned fresh flowers from the garden. He had taken her hand and spun her around in front of the stove. She'd laughed-

-until Charlie walked through the front door. Arthur had gone cold as soon as he heard his son's broken voice.

_"Aaron's gone."_

Charlie had told them the rest, or as much as he could without having to stop. Arthur had never seen his son like that, shaking and trying to get words out while tears ran down his face, choking and struggling to keep himself upright in their kitchen doorway. He'd managed to keep himself from breaking down until he stood in front of his parents. Seeing the pain and fear in their eyes had destroyed him all over again.

Arthur wanted to hold him, but he already had his arms wrapped around Molly, keeping her from collapsing as she screamed and covered her face with her hands.

_"Where's Alastor?! This is his fault!"_

_"Molly, I'm sure that-"_

_"He was supposed to take care of him!"_

Charlie shook his head and wiped his swollen eyes. He'd already tried talking to Moody. He didn't know where Aaron was and he wouldn't tell Charlie anything.

_"Because he knows they have him!"_

_"We don't know-"_

_"They have him, Arthur! He's only eighteen. He's just a damn boy. And they have him."_

Arthur tried to focus on the motorway. He tried not to think about the morning he'd spent in the car like this with Aaron. It had been so long ago; another life. Aaron had been quiet, sick, and small enough to curl up on the seat next to him; all elbows and knees. He hadn't even wanted to leave Glasgow.

Arthur couldn't stop himself from feeling responsible for what had happened. He was the one who had brought Aaron into this world. He had promised to take care of him, too.

Arthur couldn't do this on his own anymore. He signaled and took the next exit.

"Everything alright?" Molly asked, finally looking at him.

He turned onto a side road and drove until it was safe to pull over.

"Arthur?"

They were in the middle of nowhere; stopped on the shoulder in front of a field surrounded by barbed-wire.

Arthur shut off the engine and looked at Molly. "Are _we_ alright?"

"What do you-"

"We're not, are we? We haven't been for months."

Molly hesitated, then said, "No, I suppose not."

The keys dangled in the ignition, swaying a few inches from his legs. Arthur yanked them out and tossed them on the dashboard.

"This year has been nothing but one bad event after another," he said, "and I'm afraid I've made it all worse."

Molly dropped her needles and reached for his hand. "No, Arthur, you haven't."

"I should have gone to the funerals with you in February. I never should have spent so much time at the Ministry."

"You didn't have a choice after what happened. They needed you."

He entwined his fingers with hers. "You needed me more, and I wasn't there. And after it was all over, we never even talked about it. We stopped talking, Molly."

"I know," she said. "I just didn't want to worry you. You were working so hard and you looked exhausted. I didn't want to make things worse for you."

"You could never do that, love."

She shook her head. "I was a mess after Betty and Mary died, Arthur. I kept sending Ginny outside to play and then I'd lock myself in our bedroom and cry."

"Molly-"

"I didn't want you to have to deal with my grief along with everything else," she said, wiping her eyes. "It wouldn't have been fair to do that to you."

Arthur reached across the seat and pulled her into his arms. He never should have left her alone. He should have told all of them to manage without him for a few days while he went home and took care of his wife.

"I thought I could manage," Molly said, now gasping for breath between tears. "I kept waiting for the dust to settle so we could get our lives back, but everything kept getting worse. And then the night Charlie came home and told us about Aaron, I-"

He held her as she sobbed against his chest.

"It's not fair. He was so young, Arthur. It's not fair."

"I know." He pressed his forehead against her head and rubbed her back. "I know."

They sat like that for a long time, whispering 'sorry' and 'I love you' in each other's ears.

Molly's face was red and swollen with grief when she pulled away from him and wiped her nose. "I'm so glad we're talking again. It's been such a struggle just to get through the weeks."

"I've missed you."

She leaned forward and kissed him. "I've missed you, too."

Arthur reached inside his coat and handed her his handkerchief. "Let's see what we can do to make things better, shall we? What can I do?"

She blew her nose. "I don't know, Arthur. Now, it's almost Christmas and all I've managed to do is knit sweaters for the boys and Harry. The Burrow is a mess and Bill won't even be able to come home with his work in Egypt. And Charlie . . . has he responded to your letters? He hasn't written me back since October."

"No, he hasn't," Arthur said. "I'll send him a howler when we get back to Devon."

"A howler won't do him any good. He's hurting," Molly said. "He won't respond and he won't come home. It would be too hard for him to-"

"Then let's go see him."

Molly stared at Arthur. "You’re not serious."

"Of course I am."

"But what about the boys? And Ginny?"

"Oh, they'll be fine. We can leave the boys at school, and I'm sure Tessie won't mind watching Ginny again."

"But the international Floo fees are so high right now."

"We've got some savings – we can make a holiday of it. Come on, Molly, let's go see Charlie so you can yell at him properly."

She smiled at him. She was all out of excuses.

Arthur kissed her forehead and grabbed the keys. "Now, seeing as we've got that settled, let's get back on the road before Muriel worries herself into a late grave."

Molly elbowed him in the ribs and laughed as he started the engine.

They made it a few kilometers back toward the motorway before Arthur saw it - a heap in the ditch.

_Is that a-_

_It is!_

He pulled over.

Molly looked up and realized what was happening. "Oh, Arthur, not again. Please, just leave it."

He shifted into park and got out of the car before she could stop him.

The pile of battered framing and upholstery didn't look much better up close, but he couldn't hide his excitement. He turned back toward the Anglia. "Molly! Do you know what this is?!"

She leaned out the passenger side window. "Filthy?"

"It's a sofa bed! A real, honest to Merlin, muggle sofa bed!"

"A what?"

"A sofa bed!"

"Yes, you've said that three times now." She giggled. He looked so ridiculous stepping carefully around the damaged piece of furniture.

"Well, you see, muggles can't use transfiguration - of course they can't - but sometimes they must need a spare bed, like we do on occasion, so they went and built one into some of their sofas! See the mattress here?"

She did. Something was growing on it.

"It folds out!"

Arthur climbed down into the ditch and checked to make sure all of the cushions were still there. They were.

_What luck!_

Molly got out of the car and pulled on her coat. It was cold. 

She walked up to the ditch and looked down at Arthur. "It's in tatters."

"Come now, all it needs is some charm work and a little refurbishing."

She grimaced at the rain-soaked mattress strapped to the sofa's broken metal frame. "What would we ever even use it for?"

"I've already told you - a spare bed! You never know when we'll need one with our brood."

He expected her to find another reason to leave it behind, but she just laughed and took out her wand. "I suppose there's enough space in the living room."

He smiled at her and climbed out of the ditch.

Molly raised her wand and hit the sofa bed with _Reducio_ until it was small enough to load into the car.

They laughed and gagged on the wafting smell of moist upholstery all the way to Bristol.


End file.
